


can i let my mouth do the listening?

by sleeponrooftops



Series: we're living louder [1]
Category: Game of Thrones RPF
Genre: Explicit Language, Light Angst, M/M, Rimming, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-30
Updated: 2012-03-30
Packaged: 2017-11-02 18:08:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/371857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeponrooftops/pseuds/sleeponrooftops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which waking up is all it takes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	can i let my mouth do the listening?

**Author's Note:**

> A few small discrepancies —
> 
> i. I have an utter lack of knowledge regarding acting and what these people are actually like, so I apologize for anything you find wrong or stupid. Also, I didn’t do written dialect because no. I’ve done it before, and it makes me want to pull my hair out more than creating my own language does.
> 
> ii. Because I think it’s easily the most attractive friendship ever, Ben Barnes is in this way before he should be.
> 
> iii. Helen’s is a restaurant in Concord, MA, and it’s not a café, but I’ve apparently taken to naming everything even remotely related to food after it in my stories recently, oops.
> 
> iv. I do not hate Ben or Emilia, not at all, they’re just playing parts. Also, I don’t know why Kit ended up like he did; it wasn’t intentional, though I think a large part of it is just what Ben sees.

_February 17, 2011._

It’s because of the fucking Pixies that he’s awake at this ungodly hour.

 

“Fucking serious,” Kit grumbles, hand shooting out from underneath the mass that is his black comforter and smashing into his bedside table.  “ _Honestly_.”  He finally manages to get onto the top of the table, and proceeds to knock his phone onto the floor, to which he pushes his face farther into the pillow and groans outright.  He leaves his arm dangling off the side off the bed, growing cold away from the warmth of his massive comforter, but then the Pixies shut the hell up, and Kit closes his eyes again, sighing.

 

“ _Bollocks_ ,” he growls when it starts gaain, pushing away from his pillow so that he’s half out of bed, twisting so that he can reach his phone and squirm back under his covers as fast as possible.  “Fucking _what_?” he answers because, honestly, it’s three o’clock in the morning.

 

“Well.”

 

“I loathe every cell of your being,” Kit groans, forcing one eye open to jam his thumb over the speaker phone button before reacquainting his face with the pillow.  Richard laughs softly on the other line, and Kit can’t deny the smile that spreads across his face.  “You okay?” he asks after a moment.

 

“Yeah, I’m alright.  Just a little paranoid.”

 

“Mm, where are you?”

  
“Parking lot.  There’s some bloke following me.”

 

“For how long?”

 

“Since I took my first bloody sip.”

 

“Am I to assume there were many following that first?”

 

“No, you are not to assume, Snow.  I only had two, at the most.  I wasn’t calling you because I was stumbling drunk into my flat, jackass, and that was _one_ time.”

 

“Three, actually.”

 

“The third time, I was sober, and I was calling because I’d locked myself out of the bloody building, and it was pouring buckets, so shove it.”

 

“Sleeping, can’t.  How’s your lover?”

 

Richard pauses, and Kit forces himself to stir, pinching his arm.  “Still behind me.  Trying to be all discreet and shit, too.  Gods, where the balls is my car?”  He laughs softly, dangerously close to drifting off again, but then Richard speaks, “Jesus _Christ_.”

 

“Mm?”

 

“Nothing, found my car.  Stay with me a minute, okay?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“KIT, WAKE UP.”

 

“ _Fuck **you**_ ,” Kit manages, turning his face away from the phone and into his royal blue pillow.  “Do you even know what time it is?”

 

“Three, yeah.  I’m sorry, mate.”

 

“No, it’s fine.  In your car yet?”

 

“Yeah, I’m leaving.”

 

“Were you alone, idiot?”

 

“ _No_ , I was with some friends, but they, ehm—they fucking ditched, assholes.  Left me with the tab.  Last time I come to England.”

 

“You’re in England?” Kit asks, waking up a little at this.  He pushes himself up a bit, head coming off the pillow, and he looks blearily over at dark phone.

 

Richard sighs.  “I don’t know why,” he says finally, and he sounds more dejected than he should.

 

“Something happen, Stark?” he asks softly, leaning into his hand, his elbow propped up just below the pillow, the world a blurry mess.

 

Richard sighs again, and Kit frowns.  “Just more of the usual shit.  Some old school mates that wanted to catch up.  It was great, and then, ehm—you know.”

 

“Yeah.”  Kit’s had this conversation before.  The first time Richard called him in this situation was a few weeks after they’d started filming the first season of _Thrones_ , back when they were still getting to know each other, and he was so piss drunk, Kit could barely understand him through the rich, thick accent.  They’d been in the same country, then, which wasn’t so typical anymore, only a half hour’s drive to where Richard was sitting on a curb, head cradled in his arms, shouting angry Gaelic at anyone who tried to help him until Kit clocked him and Richard spilled, a furious stream of apologies and explanations in a crazy Scottish voice.  They’d sat on the curb for an hour, just talking, until Kit and Richard had somehow wormed each other so far under each other’s skins that it didn’t matter that it was one in the morning, didn’t matter that it was ass-freezing cold out, didn’t matter that Richard’s school mates came back to collect him, all sagging shoulders and bullshit apologies.

 

The second time hadn’t been nearly as bad, especially considering Kit hadn’t had to get out of bed.  It was only midnight, then, and he was still awake, working his way through the last two chapters of A Feast for Crows, and, when his phone rang, it was blasting the Pixies, and he rolled his eyes.  He wasn’t a fan, but Richard was, and he hadn’t thought to change the ringtone yet.  When he’d answered that second time, it was about a month and a half after the first time, but they’d been on break, and Richard hadn’t needed him beyond someone to rein his head in while he walked to his car alone.  The third time _had been_ because he locked himself out and was angry with himself for being so stupid, but Kit liked to bust his balls sometimes.

 

“I don’t take you for granted, you know, Kit,” Richard says softly then, and Kit pulls himself back to the present, forces himself to listen.

 

“What are you going on about?”

 

“This is just— _fuck_.  Becoming typical, yeah?  I just don’t want you to think I’m some stupid fucking drunk who has shit friends.”

 

“You are some stupid fucking drunk who has shit friends,” Kit says, and Richard barks an empty laugh at him.  “But I’m your friend, too, and I’m not shit.  And you’re only a stupid drunk when you’re with your shit friends, Richard.  It’s okay.  Stop being a girl.”

 

“Yeah.  Hey man, thanks.  I’m sorry I woke you up.”

 

“S’okay, just text me when you get back to wherever you’re staying, alright?”

 

“Yeah, alright.  Speak later, mate.”  Richard hangs up before he can respond, and Kit sighs, hitting the end call button.  He leaves the phone where it is as he drops back onto his pillow, and he’s out again in seconds.

 

Nearly two hours away, Richard looks up at his rear view mirror and frowns.  The fuck is still following him, a good handful of yards back that it’s _almost_ inconspicuous, but he’s so used to this by now that it isn’t.  He hates the way guys look at him, like he needs to be tucked away and comforted, like he’s some lost soul looking for a home, and he hates that half of those guys follow him back to his hotel and his flat and everywhere he fucking stops.

 

So he doesn’t put away his phone.  Instead, he opens Kit’s contact and plugs the address into his GPS.  He’s been to his flat plenty of times, has a key to prove it, but he doesn’t want to chance getting lost with this ass behind him.  He threatens his iPod with bodily harm until it plugs in, Snow Patrol leaking out of his speakers, and he settles in for the drive.  Somehow, for some fucking creepy reason, when he parks, the black car with the hell bent on following him bloke does, too.

 

Richard sighs, sinking back into his seat.  He hates this.

 

After a moment, he reaches into the backseat, where some of his shit is, the rest of it in the trunk, and he takes his backpack, gathers the rest of his stuff, kills the engine, and steps down out of his SUV, glancing over at the black car.  Rolling his eyes, he heads across the sidewalk and toward the big blue door, painted like a Tardis, fucking dork.  Richard smiles to himself despite that because _Kit_ , and there’s no other reason.  He lets himself in, keys jangling together on a ring, hooked to his _Thrones_ lanyard because he’s lame, and undoes the deadbolt, and sends a quick prayer north that Kit didn’t put the chain on.

 

Once inside, he _does_ put the chain on, as well as the deadbolt again, curling his fingers around his keys as he does.  He remembers Kit coming to him six months after they’d met, his palm closed over something, and he remembers feeling so grounded, like he was sitting back on his parents’ sofa in front of the fire, a mug of his mum’s hot cocoa in his hands, remembers feeling like he had a real, true home when Kit sighed and pressed the key into his hand.  “I’m trusting you,” he’d said, and Richard had smiled and quipped, “With?”

 

“With not date raping me,” Kit had snapped back, grinning.

 

“Like I said, identical idiots,” he’d said before Kit could walk away, digging in his pocket and coming up with his spare.  “Just in case.”

 

Kit had nodded and taken it, smiling.  Richard still isn’t sure when they happened, when they went from costars to best friends, when Kit handing him a spare key to his flat had been more than just giving Richard a place to crash, but it had been a sanctuary, somewhere he could feel okay and less like he was a piece of shit because of his friends that he hated more often than not.

 

He loves Kit’s flat, loves it almost more than his own, loves how _Kit_ it is, how he’s such a big loser and Richard just loves him for it.  There are just books everywhere; there always is, wherever Kit is staying, in his hotel room, in his trailer, in his flat, even at Richard’s place.  He doesn’t know where they all come from, teetering dangerously in stacks in random places, left open, upside down and right side up, and it’s just one of those tics, one of the many, that  makes Richard smile again.

 

His fingers push open the small Tardis doors where it sits on the table to the left of the door, dropping his keys inside, and he toes off his shoes underneath the table before heading inside, past forest green walls, and he wonders again, as he always does, how the hell Kit managed to do everything to this flat, but he knows it’s because of his charming smile, because of his dark, sexy eyes, because of his wit and his quickness, because of his gorgeous curls, because he’s a genuinely _nice_ person.  Yeah, he has a crush on him, has since about the five-minute mark after meeting him, but it’s not weird because Kit is so friendly, so physical, so enamored with everyone and the world.

 

His jacket comes off as he’s climbing the stairs, and he drapes it over the railing before he pushes inside Kit’s room, painted a soft blue, always clean but always messy, dirty clothes tucked away in a hamper, books scattered about haphazardly, TV still half on, posters everywhere.

 

Richard sets his backpack down lightly after he’s closed the door again, leaving it open a crack like Kit likes, leans the backpack against the wall before he goes to shut off the TV box, and then he’s standing again, looking over at Kit’s huge bed.  His hand is curled loosely over his phone, skin pale and smooth, melting into the muscles that Richard loves, his arms disappearing beneath the fluffy black comforter, but Richard can see the peak of his shoulder, knows he’s shirtless underneath.

 

He makes short work of his pants and button-up, going back over to his backpack to find a white vneck, which he tugs on before he’s padding over to the other side of the bed.  He sits on the edge, pulls off his socks, and then slides beneath the blue sheets and black comforter, stays on his side of the bed as he hunkers down and settles into sleep.

 

\--

 

Kit wakes up because his foot is warm.

 

He struggles to open his eyes, sunlight pouring through his open curtains, brightening the room, and his foot is warm.  He groans and rubs at his eyes before turning his head, and he nearly falls out of the fucking bed and onto the floor.  “Fucking _hell_!” he yelps, jumping, and Richard mumbles incoherently.

 

“Sorry,” he finally deciphers from where Richard’s got his face half-mashed into the pillow, arms stretched up underneath, the pale contours of his back disappearing beneath the comforter.  “Creep kept following me,” he slurs through his sleep, the words hard to understand through his tired accent.

 

Kit rubs his face, trying to calm his freaked the fuck out heart even as he flops back onto the bed.  “S’fine, man,” he sighs, reclining onto his back and looking over at Richard, taking him in, not needing to squint because he’s close enough.  He’s so relaxed, his body heavy and warm, and his foot darts out, seeking Kit’s again, curling around his ankle and pulling him back, leaning their feet together.  “You got a beard,” Kit points out, and Richard huffs a sleepy laugh when he pokes his cheek.

 

“Yeah, and freckles.  Tell me something I don’t know, Snow.”

 

“I meant it was more,” Kit says, slapping his cheek lightly before retracting his hand and letting it settle over his stomach, stroking in lazy up and down swipes, muscles fluttering beneath his ministrations.

 

“Ashley,” Richard says, and Kit’s brow furrows.

 

“Your girlfriend?” he hazards, and Richard snorts, turning his head until his face is completely gone, breathing in the pillow.

 

“My character,” he says finally, pushing up onto his forearms, “Didn’t I tell you?”

 

“Ashley?” Kit repeats, frowning, “No?”

 

“ _Sirens_?  I’m working in Leeds right now.”

 

“And you’re only just now creeping into my bed, loser.  What’s _Sirens_?  And _Ashley_?  That’s a gay name.”

 

“He’s gay.”  Kit laughs outright, whole body shaking with it, and Richard grins and rolls onto his back, shoulder pressing against Kit’s.  “S’fun.  Been doing it for a few weeks, first break.  I came down to Northampton to hang out with the school blokes for a couple days, was gonna come find you after, but then they were dicks.”

 

“Tell me something I don’t know, Stark,” Kit pokes fun, elbowing him.

 

“I was meant to stay for another three days at their place, got two weeks off.”

 

“Stay here, then,” Kit says, shrugging, “I don’t mind.”

 

“Are you doing anything?  Or anyone?”

 

“Negative on both fronts, my friend.  But I do need a piss, so if you’ll excuse me.”  Kit pushes up out of the bed, grabs his glasses on the way, and he’s only in a pair of black briefs, which Richard watches him walk away in, slipping out of the room and down the hall to the bathroom.  He stretches once Kit is gone, limbs extending nearly to the edges of the wide bed, but he’s interrupted when his phone rings from his backpack, Flogging Molly.  He groans and forces himself out of bed, going over to answer it.

 

“Dickhead,” he says immediately, putting the phone to his ear.

 

“Rich, I’m sorry, mate,” Victor says on the other line, sighing, “You know how they are.”

 

“No, shithead, I know how you are, and you’re the exact same fucking way.  Don’t give me that shit.”

 

“Where are you, Rich?  Let me pick you up.”

 

“I’m staying with a friend until I’m due back up to Leeds, I’m fine.  It was nice seeing you,” he says before hanging up, and there’s a few text messages sitting there.

 

“Shit friends?” Kit asks as he returns, wild black curls a little tamer.

 

“Yeah,” Richard says absentmindedly, reading through Emilia’s texts.  He sighs, rubbing his face as he turns.  “Favor?” he asks, and Kit nods.  “What does this sound like?”  He swipes his thumb down, reaching the last text, and he reads, “ _had a dream about you, think I should be checking the sky for comets?_ ”

 

“Sounds like someone’s infatuated with you,” Kit mumbles, grabbing a pair of jeans from his closet, “Emilia?”

 

“Yeah,” Richard sighs, “I kissed her that one fucking time, and it’s like the end of the world, you know?”

 

“Tell her you’re gay, and you’ve got a boyfriend named Ashley.”

 

“You’re so funny,” Richard gripes, throwing a pillow at him, “She knows I got the part.  She’s almost as bad as black car creep.”

 

“Black car?” Kit repeats, turning as he pulls the jeans up, fingers twisting as he buttons and zips them.

 

“Yeah,” Richard says from where he’s knelt in front of his backpack, rifling through until he finds his own trousers, tan and tight.

 

“Hm.”  And that’s all Kit says before he’s tugging on a white thermal, messing up his curls again.  He scrubs a hand through them, scratches at his Jon Snow beard that he’s grown fond of, pokes his contacts in, and slaps Richard’s ass on the way out.  He doesn’t hear the door because he’s running the sink, but, when he heads downstairs in his tan trousers and green t-shirt, Kit isn’t in the flat.  He frowns at the cracked door, going over and pulling it open.  As he does, his eyes blow wide because Kit, fucking _Kit_ , is speaking to someone in a black car, his hand braced against the roof.  It’s the same black car, too, and the driver is yelling and swearing something awful, but Kit is calm, shutting him up with something quick, and, when he nods and stands, the engine starts.  “Thanks, mate,” Richard hears him say as he leans against the doorframe and watches Kit turn away and head back over, still in his bare feet.  “Dude,” he says as he comes within earshot, “Fucking creep.  I can’t believe he was still here.”

 

“You didn’t have to do that,” Richard says, but Kit just shrugs and motions for him to go back inside.

 

He follows him, closing the door behind him.  “I didn’t want him outside anymore than you did.”  He goes around the corner and into the kitchen, where the rest of the flat is open past the small hallway, opening to a spacious first floor with a kitchen and large living room.  After a moment, Kit sighs.  “So I don’t actually have any food.  I was gonna do the shopping today,” he admits, and Richard rolls his eyes.

 

“Mind if I tag along?”

 

“Yeah, that’s fine.  We can grab breakfast first, yeah?  I know a good place, Scotsman,” he says as Richard heads for the stairs, following him.  They finish dressing in a comfortable silence, donning socks and shoes, jackets and scarves, and then they’re daring the wintry air, Kit directing him toward his jeep with a quick tug on his sleeve.

 

When they settle in, Kit’s iPod flares to life, and Linkin Park is leaking out of the speakers.  Richard starts laughing, Kit punches him in the shoulder, and then they’re off, Kit waving at the device.  Richard takes it, scrolling through the ridiculously long list of artists until he hits Dredg, letting out a soft noise of surprise and appreciation.  He puts on _Matroshka_ , and Kit smiles.  “I didn’t know you actually liked decent music,” Richard teases, and Kit reaches over and pulls one of his curls lightly, to which Richard bats at his wrist, trying to bite him when that doesn’t work, and Kit laughs loud, taking his hand back.

 

It’s a quick drive to the little café downtown, in _London_ , and Richard gets out, admiring the city around them.  “Tourist,” Kit accuses as he locks the jeep and dumps his keys in his pocket.  Even if he’s been here a few dozen times, London never gets old for him.  He follows Kit toward the café, where they get a table by the window and Kit shrugs out of his peacoat, scrubbing a hand through his hair when he’s done.  His scarf joins the coat behind him, and Richard copies him, his dark brown cargo jacket taking residence on the back of his chair with his scarf as their waitress approaches.

 

“Kit,” she greets, flashing a wide white smile, and Kit returns the expression with a small smile of his own, reserved and quiet, and even she notices how unlike him it is.  Richard quirks an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything.

 

“Leila,” he says, “Good to see you.  How’s business?”

 

“Better if you’d come by more.  Haven’t seen you ‘round these corners in weeks, stranger,” she accuses, and there’s that little smile again.  Leila frowns.  “Alright.  What can I get you and your friend?”

 

“Coffee, black,” Kit says, “Gimme a minute on the food.”

 

“Coffee, cream and honey, please,” Richard says, smiling.

 

“Coming right up, gentlemen.”  She clicks off in her red heels again, and Richard looks over at Kit, who is unsuccessfully hiding behind his menu.

 

“Girlfriend?” he asks, and Kit rolls his eyes at the repeated question.

 

“Shut up, Emilia.”

 

“Oh, so it’s like that?” Richard asks genuinely.

 

“Kind of,” Kit admits, lowering his menu, “Been like that.”

 

“And you’re not interested?  She’s pretty,” he says, looking over to where Leila’s going over the specials with another customer.

 

Kit just grunts, eyes flicking back down to the menu.  When Leila arrives, they’ve decided, and she flashes Richard her smile this time, who returns it lightly, face tilting up toward her just slightly.  She takes the attention, however little, and they order, nix on the extra conversation despite her swung-hip and bright eyes.  When she’s gone, though, Kit leans forward, elbows propped on the table, fingers curled around his mug.  “So, tell me about _Sirens_ ,” he says before he sips.

 

Richard obliges, telling him about the premise, Rhys and Kayvan, about playing at gay, though he keeps quiet on the fact that sometimes it’s not really playing because he isn’t sure about Kit, never really has been.  Emilia texts him as their food is arriving, just simple breakfast stuff, and he tugs out his phone, sighing.  “ _heard you were in northampton for a couple weeks, whatcha up to?_ ” he reads, and Kit chuckles, stabbing his eggs.

 

“Seriously, Richard, when are you gonna nip that one in the bud?”

 

“I’ve _tried_ , trust me.”

 

“Tried, like—” he breaks off, waving his fork around.

 

“Like,” Richard says, stalling by way of nibbling on his toast.  “Like I told her I was gay,” he finally rushes out, his ears hot and red.

 

Kit doesn’t even flinch, just chews thoughtfully on his eggs, swallows, and drops his chin into his hand, looking right at Richard, who is doing everything to _not_ meet his gaze.  “Hey,” he says finally, and Richard looks at him habitually, “Are you?”

 

“Maybe?”

 

“Like—fully?  Or, you know—just sometimes?”

 

“Maybe just sometimes?”

 

“Is this recent?”

 

Richard sighs heavily before taking a chunk out of his toast.  “I don’t think so,” he mumbles, and Kit shrugs, going back to his breakfast.  “That’s it?  No freak out?”

 

“Richard,” Kit says, sounding very serious, and Richard bites his lip when Kit puts down his fork and his hands disappear into his lap.  “Are you fucking stupid?” he asks, and Richard chokes on his toast.

 

When he’s managed to clear his throat with a gulp of coffee and his face isn’t burning so much from shame but from lack of oxygen, he meets Kit’s steady gaze, and says, “ _What_?”

 

“You are fucking stupid,” Kit just agrees with himself, picking up his fork again and stabbing a sausage.  “I _know_ you’re _bisexual_ ,” he says the word slowly, “I’m not blind.  I know when my ass is being stared at, you shithead.  And don’t even play it off by saying you were drunk,” he adds quickly, pointing his fork at Richard, “Because most of the time, you aren’t.  Now think, Stark, why were you in my bed this morning?  And don’t say because you were hiding from the creep.  Think about whom else was in _my_ bed.”

 

Richard blinks.  _Oh_.

 

“Wait— _you’re_ —really?”  Kit just nods.  “So—sometimes?  Or fully?”  That gets him a finger-dipped flick of coffee, and he laughs, wiping his face.

 

“Sometimes,” Kit says, smiling, and it’s the full blown charming one, and _oh_.

 

“Oh my god,” Richard says like his whole world has been shifted, “You didn’t smile at her like that because I was here, _shut up_!”

 

“Fucking lunatic,” Kit laughs, and Richard just stares, grinning like a giddy goof.

 

They drop the topic and finish their breakfast with light chatter, talking about what’s been going on in their lives, and, when they pay and head out, it’s snowing.  “London,” Richard grumbles, and Kit just laughs and bumps their shoulders together.

 

At the market, his phone rings, and, as soon as it’s in his hand and out of his pocket, it’s gone.  He blinks, looking up to find Kit sliding the lock bar down to answer it.  “ _Hello_!” he sings, pushing Richard into his spot so he can take over the carriage.  “How are you, Emilia?” he continues.  Richard shakes his head, grinning.

 

“Uh,” Emilia says, utterly confused, “Who is this?”

 

“Kit, silly,” Kit says, pitching his voice high and ridiculous.  Richard shoves him.

 

“Kit?” Emilia repeats, “Like—Jon Snow Kit?”

 

“Know any others?” he says, letting his voice drop back.

 

“Uh, no.  I just—what are you doing with Richard’s phone?”

 

“Why, because he’s right next to me.  We’re shopping so we’re not left floundering about, gnawing our arms off in hunger after crazy, wild gay sex.  With each other,” Kit adds for good measure, winking at Richard, who has stopped and is staring at him with a disbelieving expression, jaw unhinged.

 

“W-w-what?” Emilia splutters.

 

“Yup.”

 

“O-okay.  Uh.”

 

“As you can see, when he said he was gay, he wasn’t only trying to let you down, he was telling the truth.  So.  I get it.  He’s very attractive, but he’s not interested, and I’m telling you this because he already has, and you didn’t listen.  I’m sorry, Emilia.”

 

“N-n-no, it’s fine,” she says, “I have to go.”  And then she hangs up, and Richard claps.

 

“I can’t believe you just did that,” he says, taking his offered phone back, “Thanks, mate.”

 

“When I said crazy, wild sex, I wasn’t only trying to let her down,” Kit murmurs, stepping into Richard’s space, breath dancing across his ear as he leans forward, “I was telling the truth.”  And then he’s gone, taking the carriage from a flustered Richard and heading down the aisle.  Somehow, Richard follows.

 

\--

 

After the shopping is done, they make their way back to Kit’s flat through the thickening snow, and they haul everything inside, shivering when they’re finished.  While Kit puts everything away, Richard makes cocoa, getting in his way just so Kit keeps laughing and grumbling at him.  That’s when it happens.  He’s stretching for one of the cabinets, leaning right into Kit’s space, but he nearly falls on his ass when one of Kit’s long-fingered hands curls around his hip, thumb biting into the skin just above the waist of his jeans, and he finds himself being dragged back onto the flat of his feet and slammed into the counter.  Before he can even blink, Kit’s mouth is on his, searing and bruising, and Richard groans, one of his hands coming up to tangle in his black curls and pull him closer.  Kit licks into his mouth, and Richard lets him, surging forward even as he’s pressed harder into the counter, their bodies sliding against one another, and he can’t even feel the sharp edges of the counter because Kit’s hand is so tight on his hip, holding him there, grounding him, the other gripping the back of his neck, fingers pressing hard into the flesh.

 

Kit breaks away with a gasp, chest heaving, and Richard is a mirror image, but he tightens his hand in Kit’s hair and pulls until he tips his chin up, and he licks into the hollow of his neck before sucking the skin in between his teeth, marking him.  Kit groans and ruts against him, dick heavy and hard in his jeans, pressing against the denim, throbbing as Richard cants his own hips back up at him, their bodies moving together, desperate.

 

Richard knows he’s going to have a bruise on his hip, knows it from the way Kit’s nail digs in against his skin, from the press and drag of his thumb against the bone, but then the pressure’s gone, and he releases Kit’s neck only to have his mouth again.  It’s rough and fast, Kit’s teeth pulling on his bottom lip, releasing to suck on Richard’s tongue as his other hand darts down, fingers slipping his belt loose and yanking it open, practically ripping the button off in his haste to get his trousers open.  And then he rips the zipper down, twists his arm, and Richard’s head drops back with a bitten-back moan as Kit’s hand closes over his warm cock, slipping beneath corduroy and briefs and teasing sensitive, hardened flesh.

 

“Bottom or top?” Kit growls, mouth nipping along Richard’s jaw before he darts down, sucking a vicious bruise on the side of his neck.

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” is all Richard manages to get out at first, but then Kit’s hand is gone, and he’s stepping back just a little, struggling through his own trouser-related obstacles, mouth still wet on his neck.  “Bottom,” he says when Kit releases the skin and tilts his head up, looks up at him through dark lashes with dark eyes, and _gods_ , he just wants to feel all of him, inside of him, filling him, using him.

 

Kit nods, and then he’s stepping back even further, and Richard almost gets his head until a rush of cool air hits his thighs, and he gasps, muscles jumping.  Kit groans and kisses him again, and fuck, there’s just so much of him, naked dick pressing against his own and pushing against his body, curled up against his stomach, his hands everywhere.  And then he’s gone again, and Richard has about two seconds of confusion before a hot, wet mouth seals over the head of his cock, and his knees nearly give out.  His whole body shakes, one long tremor as Kit curls a hand around his still clothed calf, the other stroking himself in lazy drags, and swallows him down slowly until his nose is tickled by auburn hair, and Richard lets out this moan, low and long, forcing himself to hold still, to not fuck down into Kit’s perfect mouth and perfect throat.

 

The hand on his calf leaves as he pulls back, tongue curling around his aching cock, and then something scratchy is batting against his naked thigh.  He looks down, blinks, and takes the foil packet of lube from Kit’s hand, and _oh_.  Kit pulls off with a wet pop, dark eyes flicking up to Richard’s face, and he nods, already tearing the foil open and letting the lube coat his fingers because he’ll be damned if he doesn’t get Kit’s mouth on his cock again.

 

Kit smiles and licks his lips, and Richard groans softly, his unoccupied hand twitching at his side.  Kit spots it, a minute shift in his gaze, and he pulls his hand up his own cock in a tight squeeze before letting go and reaching for Richard’s hand.  He guides it to his head, to which Richard’s breath hitches, and then he’s pressing one finger inside of himself at the same time Kit is sucking at the head of his cock, tongue pressing over the slit, and his hand tightens in his dark curls, tugs, and Kit goes, takes him in again as he stretches himself.

 

He’s never been with another guy before, not like this.  He’s been kissed before, and he’s been briefly palmed through his trousers, but he’s never, _ever_ had this.  He’s stretched himself before, loves the feel of his fingers in his ass, has always imagined Kit’s, long and always moving, and though he would give anything to feel Kit shove and twist up inside him, he lets it go, hopes and prays for a next time.

 

The next time Kit releases his dick, it feels like forever, but it’s been barely enough time for him to press a second finger in, as quick as he’s going, but Kit is lifting to his feet again, working his jaw once.  When he’s straight again, he distracts Richard with a long, slow kiss, and says as he pulls away, “Next time we’ll make it to the bed.”

 

“Next time,” Richard agrees, grinning wickedly.  And then Kit is turning him, pinning him to the counter, taking his wrist and pulling his hand away.  He hears another foil packet rip, braces himself, but it’s Kit’s hand against his ass first, a soothing rub of his thumb before he slams two fingers in, scissors fast, twice, and then it’s another, twisting and scraping upward.  Richard keens, holding onto the counter as he loses his breath.  Kit wastes no time, waits until he’s just there, and then he pulls his fingers out, tears a condom free with his teeth, and grabs Richard’s hip with one hand, guides his cock to his entrance with the other, bends and kisses his clothed back before he thrusts forward, and Richard shouts, shaking.

 

He isn’t expecting intimacy, not so soon, but Kit keeps throwing him around corners, and he gasps as one strong arm wraps around his front and pulls him close, lips ghosting over his ear.  “I got you,” he whispers, and Richard sighs, trying to adjust.  Kit gives him a minute, counts in his head until Richard turns his jaw and finds Kit’s mouth.

 

“Yeah,” he says, and then it’s a race.  Kit slams into him, one, long, heavy thrust after another, head of his cock sliding over his prostate on every shift of his hips, pulling out nearly all the way and pushing back in, shaking moans and shouts from Richard even as Kit loses his breath against Richard’s back, temple pressed against the nape of his neck.  He still has his arm wrapped around him, fingers fisted in his t-shirt, and Richard’s own hand is wound around his, holding him tightly, trembling.  “ _Fuck_ — _Kit_ ,” he gasps, harsh and wrecked, and Kit drives home again, stills, fills him, and then thrusts shallowly, quickly, keeping him stretched around his aching dick.

 

“Yeah?” he whispers, squeezing the hand on his chest.

 

“ _Fuck_ , fuck— _Kit_.”  He can feel the muscles in Richard’s thighs jump, twitch, shake, and he lets go of his hip to curl around his cock, fist tight and fast.  “Kit—Kit— _fuck_ , Kit,” he pants, and then he comes, air punched right out of him, clenching goddamn _tight_ around Kit’s cock, and he gasps, tilting his head up so he can bite at Richard’s neck as he loses control, movements erratic and unsteady before he slams in and stills, shaking as he finishes.

 

His vision whites out, and he can’t breathe for a second until he blinks, and he’s back, oxygen flooding his lungs as Richard sags against him, boneless.  They come down together, breathing heavy, hanging onto each other.  Finally, though, Kit squirms his hand out from underneath Richard’s, pulls out and groans as he does, Richard mimicking him as his ass clenches around nothing, aching with the loss.  He steps back, pulls the condom off, and touches Richard’s hip, asking.  Richard turns and immediately kisses him, one hand slipping up into his hair, loose and warm.  When he pulls back, he leans their foreheads together, closes his eyes.

 

“I guess you were telling the truth,” he says, and Kit laughs, tipping forward to kiss him again before stepping back to pull up his pants and throw away the condom and scattered foil.  Richard wets a paper towel to clean himself as Kit takes in a long breath and scrubs a hand through his hair, shaking a little.  He needs a smoke.

 

He looks to the other counter, but it’s empty, and he frowns; they’re in the car.  “Hey,” Richard says, tossing the paper towel in the trash before he tugs up his jeans, buttons and zips them, but leaves the buckle undone, “Ehm—you smoke, yeah?”

 

“Yeah, go ahead,” Kit says, already preparing himself to trudge back outside into the whipping wind and freezing snow.  Honestly, he’s had enough of the Wall, he doesn’t need it before going back for season two.

 

“Want one?”  He turns, and Richard is holding out a pack of Marlboros.

 

“You are seriously my soul mate,” Kit groans, taking one and nodding his thanks for the offered lighter; that’s in the car, too.  The first inhale is always his favorite, a burning rush of smoke that nearly makes his eyes roll back, everytime, without fail.  Richard is the same way, greedy as he takes a long drag, but his eyes are fixed on Kit’s, who stares right back.

 

“Your milk is still out,” he says after a moment, and Kit swears and turns; half the shopping is still out.

 

“Bollocks,” he grumbles, sighing before he goes to put the rest of it away, Richard finally getting the fuck out of the kitchen after he’s poured the hot cocoa, now pretty useless to them, their bodies having warmed each other.  He pulls himself onto the stool and sips his anyway, humming as it drowns his throat in scalding warmth.  Kit finishes with the shopping quickly before he’s retreating to the counter and leaning against it, sipping the cocoa carefully, cigarette balanced between his fingers.  “So,” he says, quirking an eyebrow up at Richard.

 

“So,” Richard returns, “Have you been with a guy before?”

 

Kit nods slowly, watching Richard’s face.  “You haven’t,” he says after a moment, taking another drag of his cigarette.  “Was that okay?”

 

Richard nods.  “Very okay.”  When Kit’s frown still doesn’t go away, he elaborates, “I’ve been with guys before, just not that far.  And I’ve done—stuff, you know—to myself before,” he finishes, ducking his head as his ears redden.

 

“Okay,” Kit says, finally smiling, “You wanna watch a movie upstairs, probably fuck around some more?”

 

“Definitely.”  Kit just slaps a hand on the counter before pushing away, taking his mug and heading for the stairs, waiting for Richard to catch up before he starts up.  Once inside, he deposits his mug on the bedside table, sticks his cigarette between his lips, and pushes down his jeans, kicking them off toward where Richard’s clothes from yesterday are still sitting on the floor, and then he curls up in bed.  Richard follows, getting rid of his own trousers, and Kit moves the pillows around until he can comfortably prop himself against the headboard, holding out his arm for Richard to curl against him, which he most certainly does, smiling contently.  They flip through the channels until they settle on something good, smoking and drinking their cocoa.

 

 _V for Vendetta_ is on, and that plays while Richard traces patterns on Kit’s clothed stomach and Kit threads his fingers through Richard’s hair, massaging his skull lightly.  Neither of them are _really_ paying attention, though it is one of Kit’s more favorite movies, and he’s definitely more attentive than the entirely distracted Richard.  Finally, though, when their mugs are on the bedside table and their cigarettes snubbed out, he pushes up, catches Kit’s attention, and he swings one leg over him, effectively straddling his lap.  Kit rubs his hands up his thighs, against the hair, before he settles on his hips, fingers splayed around the curve of them, thumbs rubbing circles in the bone creeping beyond his briefs.  He tilts his head up, looking up at Richard, who stares back down at him, fingers still tracing lazily over his torso, igniting his blood.

 

Kit slides his hands higher, up around to the small of his back, feeling the warm skin there, wanting to touch and feel so much more than just his thighs and ass.  He wants everything, and, when Richard leans back, he gives it to him, pulls off his t-shirt and blinks at Kit until he sheds his thermal, and then they’re kissing, soft and slow, an easy battle.  When they part, Kit presses a quick kiss to his mouth before brushing their noses together.  “Fuck me?” he asks, and Richard closes his eyes, tries and fails to catch his breath.  _Gods_ , the only thing he wants more than Kit inside him is Kit beneath him.

 

Finally, Richard nods, seals their mouths together again, and, when they part again, Kit shifts his hips, unbalances Richard until he swings off his lap again, and they shed their underwear, toss it over the side of the bed, and Kit starts to turn until Richard shakes his head and grabs his arm.  “No, I want to see you,” he murmurs, and Kit nods, once, settling against the headboard again for a moment before he twists over to open one of the drawers, rifling around even as Richard settles between his legs, knees against the black comforter.  Kit hands him a small tube and a foil packet, slides down until he’s lying on his back, and then Richard bends over him, kisses him long and slow until Kit is groaning and reaching for him, hands in his hair and hips arching off the bed toward him, Richard’s fingers dancing along his stomach and thighs, never touching what he wants.

 

Where the kitchen was fast and needy, this is slow and easy, Richard stretching Kit until he’s keening, squirming against him, begging for him, “Richard— _fuck_ , Richard, _please_ —Rich-Richard, _god_.”  He always says his full name, never shortens it, and it twists his stomach into knots, releases them in angry butterflies, makes his blood churn with lust and want.  He’s one of the few people that gets it, that just knows he hates being called Rich, and he uses that, draws his name out slow, rolls it off his tongue in a purr.

 

When Richard pushes past tight rings of muscle, Kit gasps and bows off the bed, fingers fastened tight around Richard’s shoulders, legs hitched high around his ribcage.  “ _Fuck_ ,” he moans, the long expanse of his neck visible as his head tips back, presses into the blue pillow.  “Fucking bloody _hell_ , Richard.”  Kit clenches around him, tight and hot and wonderful, and Richard moans, buries his face in Kit’s neck and mouths at the skin there.  “ _God_ , Richard, _fuck me_ ,” he begs, nails dragging up Richard’s back until he shifts, pulls out and buries himself inside the searing beauty that is Kit Harington’s ass.

 

Richard is vocal regardless, always has been, but Kit is a fucking _mess_ when he bottoms, tongue uncontrollable as he profanes and groans, sounds like he’s dying, noises dragged out from deep inside him, his whole body vibrating with it, and Richard loves every fucking second of it, loves to swallow his moans down, loves to pull them out and pull him apart.

 

This time is still fast, both desperate to for each other, both chasing and racing, climbing higher until Kit shouts, gasps, and says, “Fuck, Richard, gonna—” and he’s clenching impossibly tighter around his cock and bowing off the bed again, one set of nails digging sharp into Richard’s shoulder as the other fastens around his wrist and he turns his head, biting his lip, coming in thick strands across his stomach, untouched, and it’s Richard’s undoing.  He follows him over the edge, forehead pressed against his shoulder and groaning as he milks his way through orgasm, thrusting fast and shallow into Kit’s body until he just can’t, until he collapses against him, Kit grunting in response, fucking _dead tired_.

 

“Fuck,” Kit says, and Richard groans in response.  He pushes himself up a moment later, slipping out of Kit with a soft noise, and Kit bites his lip again as he does, body twitching up toward him unconsciously.  His mouth is red and raw, and it makes Richard want to kiss him breathless, so he does until he pulls back and Kit just looks so completely fucked and blissed out that Richard kisses him again, makes his mouth shiny and swollen.

 

“Stay here,” Richard murmurs before he gets off the bed and disappears from the room.  When he comes back with a damp wash cloth, Kit’s flung an arm over his face and is breathing slowly, fighting sleep.  He jumps when the warm cloth hits his skin, but he relaxes immediately, sighing.  When he’s done, he drops the cloth in the hamper, pads over to the opposite side of the bed, and gets in, reclining onto his side.  Kit stirs after a moment, dropping his arm back down to his side and looking over.

 

“Hey,” he says tiredly, and Richard smiles.

 

“Hey.”

 

“Are we something?”  Kit frowns even as he’s saying it, knowing how much like a sappy girl he sounds.

 

“Do you want to be?”

 

“Kind of.”  Richard quirks an eyebrow, and Kit sighs.  “Yeah, I do.  I know, I’m such a fucking pussy.”

 

“You aren’t,” Richard says, leaning over to kiss him, “I want something, too.”

 

“Okay.  I am so not putting a heart next to your name in my phone, though,” he grumbles even as he reaches for Richard and pulls him across the bed and against him.  “M’going to sleep.  I’ll make dinner later,” he mumbles, and Richard slips under with him.

 

\--

 

Kit decides it’s always something.  This time, it’s Flogging Molly, and he shoves Richard’s shoulder blindly, who grunts, and Kit growls, “Fucking change my ringtone before I murder you, _by the way_.”  That gets him a laugh and a cold side as Richard pushes away from him and slips out of the bed.

 

“Rhys, hey, what’s up, mate?” he answers as Kit forces his eyes open, sticky and dry from sleeping in contacts.  He rubs at them until they water, and he blinks furiously before turning his head.  Richard has his back to him, one hand holding his phone to his ear, the other scrubbing through his hair, resting at the back of his neck, still half tangled in his auburn curls.  His back is long and muscular from this angle, and Kit rolls onto his side and admires him, curls to heels, scraping his teeth over his bottom lip.  “Yeah?” Richard says, sighing, and his hand drops away, scratching at his side before it falls still by him.  “No, I haven’t been near my phone.  I’ll check.”  He pauses, listening.  “Yeah, thanks, man.  I’ll see you soon.”  As he hangs up, he turns, and Kit flicks his eyes upward, quirking an eyebrow.  “Apparently—” he begins, bending over to grab a pair of briefs from his backpack, “—they cut our break in half, said we needed to continue shooting sooner.  I gotta head back up in two days.”

 

“That sucks,” Kit says before he yawns and stretches, rolling onto his back again, “Leeds, right?”

 

“Yeah, why?”

 

“Just curious.  What do you want for dinner?”

 

“Whatever you’re cooking; I’m not picky.”

 

“Liar.”

 

“Dork,” Richard says before he disappears.  Kit looks up immediately, and he gives a soft, triumphant exclamation when he spots his phone on the bedside table.  He quickly unlocks it, taps into his contacts, slides his thumb down until he reaches Rhys’ number, and then he’s grabbing his own phone, programming the number in.  He’s done and getting dressed before Richard returns.  He gets back into his jeans and thermal, and he distracts Richard with a slow kiss before he leaves, giving his ass a squeeze on the way out.

 

Downstairs, he stands in front of his fridge with one hand in his hair and the other fishing a cigarette out of Richard’s pack.  He sighs, lights the cigarette, and then sets about finding the right ingredients.  He turns one of the stovetop burners on before dumping the vegetables in a mess over his cutting board, and then he’s padding out of the kitchen and to the far side of the living room where he’s got a turntable sitting.  He settles a record on, fits the needle, and closes his eyes, taking in a slow drag as the record crackles to life, Jacob Golden’s _Revenge Songs_.  It’s easy and ambient, and he loves cooking to it.  Richard comes down as he sorting vegetables and puffing on his cigarette.

 

“Bunny rabbit,” Richard accuses as he winds his arms around Kit and squeezes, presses a kiss to the back of his neck before he releases him and goes to take up residence on the other side on a stool.

 

“Why, cos I dig veggies?” Kit returns, threatening him with the knife before getting to work.  He tosses baby shrimp into a frying pan, shifting them around in between vegetables, and he sets a pot to boil somewhere in the midst of everything.  Richard flips through some of the books lying around, chatting with him lightly, and it’s just so easy that Kit finds himself constantly smiling.

 

And that’s how their next two days together play out, hiding away in the flat from the still settling blizzard, cooking for each other, having sex everywhere, and just being together, living together, and neither of them hate one second of it.  On the second afternoon, though, after they’ve disentangled themselves from the sheets and each other, Richard packs up his things and kisses Kit in the bedroom and against the front door until he finally manages to pull away.  “It’s going to take me nearly four hours, I have to go,” he mumbles, kissing his nose, “I’ll let you know when I get there safe, yeah?”

 

“I’d appreciate that,” Kit says, stealing his mouth again for another few minutes until Richard is batting him away, smiling fondly.

 

And they leave it like that, Kit leaning against the doorway and watching Richard walk to his car, watching him drive away and sighing.  It took him this long to finally open Richard up, and now he’s gone again.

 

He remembers meeting the Winterfell family that first time, right before they did their first cold read together, remembers walking in and seeing Richard in his stupid tight trousers and his button-up under his cargo jacket, remembers taking in his auburn curls and beard, remembers wanting to jump him the moment he laid eyes on him, but something had held him back, something shy and quiet about Richard, something he gets now.  He remembers the look on Richard’s face that first meeting, too, remembers watching him give Kit a once-over as he introduced himself, remembers hitting it off immediately with him, remembers having to take a cold shower after drinks that night.

 

Kit sighs, closing the door behind him, and he looks around his flat for a moment before jogging upstairs to where his phone still is.  He puts it on speaker phone while he’s getting dressed since he and Richard pretty much just spent the whole day in bed watching shit movies to make them laugh, and Ben picks up on the third ring.  “I was _just_ thinking of you,” he says by way of answering.

 

“Stop having wank fantasies about me, creep,” Kit shoots back.

 

He shimmies into a pair of dark jeans as Ben laughs and says, “Where have you been, man?  I tried ringing you yesterday, and you never answered.”

 

“Yeah, I’ll tell you about that.  Fancy a drink?”

 

“Mate, it’s four thirty.”

 

“Oh fine, we’ll go out for dinner, too, you fucking girl.”

 

Ben laughs again, “Want me to pick you up?  Don’t say no because I’m not meeting you if you’re driving that shit box in the snow.”

 

“Asshat.”

 

“I just pulled into Helen’s.  Do you want a coffee with a side of Leila lipstick?”

 

“Chase it with cinnamon, and I’ll let you stare at my ass without repercussions.”

  
“You have a nice ass, Kit,” Ben says sincerely, and Kit just laughs and pulls his leather jacket on over a loose white vneck.  “Alright, I’ll be there in twenty.  If you go outside so I’m forced to warm your hands again, I’ll bite you.”

 

“Kinky,” he says and hangs up.  By the time he’s half-assed the laces on his black Docs and gotten his shit together, Ben is obnoxiously leaning on the horn, riling the neighbors so they scream out their windows at him.  He’s cackling by the time Kit is outside and locking his door, shaking his head.

 

He’s known Ben for pretty much all of his life, met him in kindergarten when Ben was in the fifth grade; some dick second graders had been picking on him because he had curly hair like an orphan in _Annie_ , and Ben had come up and clocked one of them, sent the rest of them scattering.  Kit had never let him go after that, and Ben had never tried to get away.  When he was seventeen and freaking out about possibly being gay, Ben had sat him down and wound a hand in his pants while he showed him how to kiss, _properly_ , and, when they’d finished, Ben had quirked an eyebrow and Kit had tried his hardest not to shake because _damn_.  Ben had been his first, four months later, and they were each other’s comforts, showing up lonely, bored, angry, and needy on each other’s doorsteps, sometimes barely making it out of the front hallway.  It had been a long time since they’d last fucked around, though there was always that _thing_ between them that never got in the way but always made them better friends than anyone else.

 

And so, when Kit opens the passenger door and drops into the seat, Ben’s brow furrows and he stares at him for a long minute before nodding and turning away again.  “You have a boyfriend,” he says, and Kit proceeds to curse him into oblivion as he pulls away.

 

“Come _on_ , I tried _so_ hard to smell like myself,” he complains, head dropping back into the seat.

 

“You do smell like you, as sexy as always,” Ben assures, “But your energy is different.  Plus, you aren’t sexually frustrated anymore.”

 

“How do you even know that?” Kit demands, looking over at him.

 

“Because I know what your sexual frustration looks like because it’s been pouting on my front door on more than a half dozen occasions.”

 

“Fuck off.”

 

“Apparently, you have been.  I’m so intrigued.  But, pub food or—”

 

“Pub food, gods, I’ve been eating way too good the past few weeks.”

 

Ben just laughs and takes a right.  The pub isn’t far, and they grab a seat at the bar, chatting up the handsome man currently pouring drinks down the way because he’s Ben’s brother, and they love heckling him.  Finally, though, he smacks Ben upside the head before leaning against the bar.  “What do you want?” he demands, but he’s grinning.

 

And so they order drinks and burgers, whistling as Jack walks away and flips them off.  “Alright,” Ben says once they’re done and Jack is out of earshot, “Spill.”

 

“You watched _Thrones_ , who do you think?”

 

“Fuck, no way.  The adorable redhead?  The one who, like, became King of the North or something?”

 

Kit just shrugs, smiling.  “Richard,” he says finally.

 

“And where is Richard right now?  Because I’m feeling this is a rather recent development, and, if it’s not, I’ll get Jack to let me tap spray you again.”

 

“Fuck that,” Jack says as he comes back with their drinks, “Last time I ever let you settle a bet with my tap.”

 

“C’mon, brother, you own the freaking place,” Ben teases, rumpling his hair.

 

“Yeah, whatever.  Hey, Kit, by the way, some shithead came in here the other day, yelling about how the stupid bastard of the Wall told him to fuck off.  Had no idea who I was, but it was funny to watch.”

 

“Shit, was he driving a black car?”

 

“Uh, yeah, actually.  Why?”

 

“Cos I did tell him to fuck off.  He was creeping in front of my house, following one of my friends back to my place.”

 

“Friend?” Ben repeats.

 

Jack immediately catches on.  “Friend, huh?” he says, leaning on the bar again, “What’s his or her name?”

 

“Richard,” Kit says, and Jack smirks, “I work with him.”

 

“Bingo.  The redhead?” he says to Ben, who nods.

 

“Have you two been conspiring or something?” Kit accuses them.

 

“Kit, you’ve been lusting over him for months.  I mean, for fuck’s sake, I haven’t had you beneath me in—”

 

“ _Okay_!” Jack exclaims, “I have definitely heard enough of this conversation.  God, you two are so messed up.”

 

“Okay, now that he’s gone, go, spill, I want details.  Dirty ones,” Ben adds before he takes a sip from his pint.

 

“You know,” Kit says, copying him, “We’ve been friends since the show started shooting, and, I mean—we have keys to each other’s places, okay?”

 

“God, this is like a movie, keep going.”

 

“Ass,” Kit grumbles, “But anyway, so we hang out all the time, and sometimes we kind of just end up in each other’s beds or whatever, not sex, just sleeping, it’s happened a few times, but last night he didn’t tell me before he came over cos there was some shithead following him after his old school friends ditched him, so he let himself in, and I woke up and he was there, and it just happened, you know?  We went to Helen’s for breakfast, and there’s this girl Emilia that we work with that fancies him, and we were talking about her and Leila—Daenerys,” he answers Ben’s curious expression before continuing, “—but anyway, it was just—you know.  He said he tried to let Emilia down by saying he was gay, and then we got to talking about being bi, and I may have said I knew he was staring at my ass, and—”

 

“This sounds disgustingly like what I did to you,” Ben admits, and Kit snorts.

 

“It really does, doesn’t it?”

 

They look at each other for a moment before bursting out in laughter, and they’re only interrupted when Jack comes back over with a roll of his eyes and their food.  “Anyway, go on,” Ben says, throwing a fry at him.

 

Jack leaves again as Kit continues, “He did the shopping with me, and then he was just—fuck, he kept getting in my way in the kitchen, so I pinned him to the counter and we may have had sex.”

 

“Against the counter?” Ben repeats, hands still in midair, closed around his burger.  When Kit nods, Ben makes a noise and says, “I have a boner.”

 

“Piss off, you suck.”

 

“Did you bottom?”

 

“Not against the counter.”

 

“Oh god, was he turned around?”

 

“Why do you even want to know?”

 

“Because I only have a very vague image of him in my head, and I’m trying to recall it while imagining you fucking him into the counter.”

 

“Seriously, into the counter?” Jack says, and Kit nearly chokes.  “Do tell me you at least got to the sofa the second time,” he continues, unperturbed.

 

“Fuck both of you, seriously,” Kit says after he’s gulped down some of his beer, “The bedroom the second time, I’ll have you know.”

 

“That’s even better,” Jack says even as he’s pulling out his phone and ignoring someone’s call for him.  Another man passes by him, rolling his eyes, to go help the customer, while Jack fiddles with his phone.

 

“So,” Ben picks up, “You fucked him into the counter, and then you got on your back in the bedroom.  Classy.”

 

“Maybe I didn’t,” Kit challenges, and Ben snorts without even looking at him.

 

“You fucking did.  You’re such an ass monkey, you love being slammed into a mattress, _I would know_.  Oh!” he finishes in an exclamation as Jack turns his phone, displaying a picture of Richard in a green outfit.  “The fuck is that from?  He looks like a doctor or something,” he says, peering closer at it.

 

Kit does the same, backs up to one of his earlier conversations with Richard, and says, “He’s playing an EMT in some new Channel 4 show.  _Sirens_.”

 

“Oh god, Rhys Thomas,” Ben swoons, and Jack laughs and takes his phone back, “He’s gorgeous, really.  It’s such a pity he’s married.  He’s in that?  Main character, it looks like, or at least, nearly main.  Wait, you fucked _that_ into the counter?  _Damn_ , Kit.  I don’t usually do gingers, but that’s nice.”

 

“He’s Scottish.”

 

Ben almost lands on the floor.  “Are you fucking serious?”  When Kit nods, he slaps his hand on the bar, “Marry him.”

 

Kit barks out a laugh, giving him an amused look before turning back to his burger.  “He also shouts angrily in Gaelic when he’s drunk.”

 

“I’m gonna steal him.”

 

“And he’s taller than me, Ben.”  Ben looks over, smiling.  “Not by much, but still.  It’s freaking awesome.”

 

“I’m happy for you.  So, _Sirens_ is filming in Leeds, I know this because I’m a stalker, and Rhys Thomas is my soul mate, and fuck you, you have his phone number, don’t you?” he finishes as Kit grins.  “God, I hate so much about you right now.  I can’t even ask for it because he’s married, and that’s weird.  You’re gonna surprise Richard, aren’t you?  That’s adorable.  Can I pinch your cheeks?”

 

“Depends on which ones?”

 

“Well, considering there’s been two guys ogling you from across the room for the last fifteen minutes, I should probably go south to show them who you belong to.”

 

“Piss off.”

 

“It was worth a try.  Now what’s going to happen to me when I get smashed without you?  I have to go find another person I’ve known my whole life to have sex with who will make me pancakes in the morning and then play video games like nothing happened.  You suck.  Why did you have to be the perfect best friend?”

 

“Because you _don’t_ make pancakes in the morning when I come over your place.”

 

“Because I give you sausage in the morning, instead.  You’re a goddamn whore for sleepy morning sex, don’t even deny it.”

 

“Whatever, bitch.  What’s up in your love life?”

 

“Oh, _nothing_ , just seeing this girl I met a month or so back.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yeah, we’ve been on a couple dates.  Amy.  She’s a sweet girl.  You’d like her.”

 

“Bring her ‘round one time with Jack and Alice, we’ll have a girl’s night.”

 

“Only if I get to meet Richard.  So, I heard a small rumor that you might be leaving me again.”

 

“Iceland,” Kit groans, “You heard right.  It’s not for, like, a _while_ , but they’re getting everything together, and I got the call the other day.  How do you know already?  Do you, like, have cameras in my bathroom?”

 

“You answer your phone when you’re in the bathroom?  That’s gross.”

 

“I was in the shower, jackass.  I knew they were supposed to be calling soon, so I was taking it with me everywhere.”

 

“Iceland, _ugh_.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“That’s cold.  Send me postcards.”

 

“Whatever,” Kit grumbles, pushing Ben lightly, “It’ll be fun maybe.”

 

“Yeah,” Ben snorts, and that’s how the rest of their night carries on, heckling Jack and hanging out, catching up on each other’s lives even though it’s only been a few weeks since they last hung out.

 

Around nine o’clock, though, Kit excuses himself to the bathroom, and, as he’s scrubbing his hands clean, his phone rings, blaring Oasis, and he laughs softly to himself.  “You changed it,” he says as he answers, tucking the phone between his jaw and shoulder as he dries his hands.

 

“You did threaten murder, after all,” Richard returns, no bite, and Kit immediately frowns.

 

“Are you okay?” he asks, noting Richard’s hoarse and tense voice.

 

“Yeah, I’m—” he breaks off as someone starts yelling in the background, and his voice is suddenly much louder but distant as he responds, “Fuck off!  I thought I fucking told you to stay away from me!”  Whoever was yelling responds again, and Richard practically throws a fit, “I will fucking—”

 

“ _Rich_!” someone else shouts, there’s a loud noise, and Kit is stopped by the door, frozen, when it opens, and he shakes himself, his hands trembling a little as he pushes out of the bathroom and steps aside, away from the buzz of the pub.  “Uh—hey,” an unfamiliar voice says suddenly, and Kit blinks, “I don’t, uh—I don’t know if Rich spoke of me.  This is—Rhys, sorry.  Rhys, his costar.  _Sirens_.”

 

“Yeah, he did.  What’s going?”

 

“Kayvan, don’t fucking let him go!” Rhys yells, there’s a pause, and then, “For fuck’s sake, Rich, _let’s go_.  The cops are probably halfway here already, leave it the fuck alone.”  There’s another pause, and then Rhys is back, “I’m sorry, he shouldn’t have called you.  It’s a goddamn mess over here.  He said some shithead was following him in a black car earlier, yeah?”

 

“Yeah, is he there?”

 

“That’s who he’s yelling at.  He got back, like—uh, I don’t know, like—fifteen minutes—ago—Richard!”  He must be closer because, this time, Richard’s angry voice is louder, swearing and screaming, nearly incomprehensible because his accent is so heavy, and Kit swears half of it isn’t even English.  “ _Richard_!  Will you talk to your fucking boyfriend please?” Rhys growls, and there’s movement before sudden silence.

 

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Richard chokes out, and Kit sinks back against the wall, slides down it until he’s sitting.  He doesn’t say anything, just presses his fingers into his closed eyes at Richard’s shaky inhale and sharp breath.

 

After a few moments, he speaks, “Did you walk away?”

 

“Kit, he—he grabbed me.”

 

“ _What_?”

 

“When I got out of the car, I didn’t even—didn’t even _see_ him,” he forces out, his words slurring together and becoming a jumbled Scottish mess again.

 

“Richard,” Kit says slowly, “Calm down.”  Richard is silent for nearly a minute save for his slowly steadying breathing, and then he swears softly and Kit can hear the familiar flicking of a lighter.  He waits until he can hear him take in a long drag before he speaks again, “Now tell me what happened.”

 

“I didn’t see him when I was driving,” Richard says, “And when I got out of the car, at the flat we’re sharing for shooting, ehm—cos he called me, and Kayvan was already there, I was getting my shit, right, and, ehm—and he just fucking came out of nowhere and grabbed me, shoved me against the car.  I fucking—gods, I hit him,” he breaks.

 

“Are you hurt?”

 

“No, I’m fine.”

 

“That’s good.  And you called the cops?”

 

“Yeah, they’re on their way.  I’m down the street right now, needed air.”

 

“You should go inside, get away from everything.”

 

“I wish I hadn’t left.”

 

Kit’s stomach twists as he scrapes his teeth over his bottom lip, and he frowns.  There’s something there that isn’t just this shit with the black car, something more, something that’s been there for a while, and it freaks him out sometimes.  “You’re okay,” he says instead of the million other things he actually wants to say, “You’re okay.”

 

“Yeah.”  He takes a moment to breathe, to collect himself, and then he continues, “So I got to Leeds alright.”

 

Kit barks out an empty laugh, “I guess so.  Look, do you want to go or…” he trails off, unsure.

 

“I think so.  I just—my brain is fucking crazy right now, I don’t really wanna talk.  I did, I was okay, and then he started yelling at me as I was calling you, and I just—”

 

“Richard,” he cuts him off, noting the building hysteria, “Go inside, and go to sleep.”

 

“Yeah.  Yeah, okay.  Thank you.”

 

“No problem, mate.  That’s what I’m here for.”

 

“Speak later, yeah?”

 

“Yeah,” Kit says, pauses, and then, “Goodnight, Richard.”

 

“Night, Kit.”

 

As he hangs up, Richard closes his eyes and turns from where he’s leaning against the brick wall of a building and presses his forehead against it, trying to quell the oncoming tears.  Rhys finds him like this, and he says his name as he approaches so as not to spook him.  Richard pushes away from the wall and rubs at his eyes furiously, clearing his throat as he straightens and flicks his cigarette onto the ground, toeing it out.  “Hey,” he says, turning to Rhys.

 

“You okay, mate?”

  
“Yeah, I’m alright.  I just need to sleep.”

 

“Come on, then.  I spoke to the cops for you, it’s all settled.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Thanks, Rhys.”

 

“Hey, no problem.  Everything all good with whoever that was on the phone?” he asks as they head back toward the flat.

 

“Yeah, it’s, ehm—how did you know?” Richard asks.

 

“I just figured, mate.  You said you were gonna hang out with some bloke named Kit, and that was the contact name, and I just figured.  I was right?”

  
“Yeah,” Richard sighs, defeated, “I was gonna tell you guys.”

 

“I’ll pretend to be surprised.  I don’t think Kayvan heard me.”

 

“Yeah, alright.”  They’ve reached the flat, and they head inside.  After that, it’s just a peaceful night, splitting off into their separate bedrooms, and Richard is out cold seconds after his head hits the pillow, but it doesn’t smell like Kit, and he wakes up three times.

 

In the morning, his phone is blinking, and he stares at it for a few moments, still waking up, before he stretches and grabs it, sliding down the lock and going through the combination.  There’s a text from Emilia sitting there, _can you call me please?_ , and a voicemail, surprisingly.  Richard ignores the text and dials his voicemail, waiting.

 

“Hey sleepyhead,” Kit’s voice greets him, and he smiles instantly, relaxing back into his bed, “It’s early, I know, but I figured you’ll be busy later with shooting, maybe?  I don’t know.  I hope you’re feeling better.  It was weird sleeping alone.”  There’s a pause, and Richard bites his lip.  “Call me later, yeah?”  The message beeps, and he hangs up, mashing his face in the pillow.  He’s giddy for about two seconds until his phone dings, signaling another text, again from Emilia, _come on, rich.  this is freaking me out._   And so he sighs and opens her contact, hitting call as he sits up, legs crossed under him.

 

She picks up on the first ring, “Hey.”

 

“Hey,” he returns, “What’s up?”

 

“What the hell was that with Kit the other day?”

 

“Ehm—the truth?”

 

“ _What_?”

 

Richard lets the silence sit for a few moments before speaking, “I’m sorry.”

 

“What the _fuck_?  What are you even saying?  You’re _gay_?”

 

“Bi?  I think that’s the term.”

 

“So you’re _dating_ … Kit fucking Harington?  Are you actually serious, Richard?”

 

“Can you, ehm—can you _not_ spread that around?  We haven’t really talked about it yet.”

 

“So you’re not dating him?”

  
“No, I am.  We are.  We’re dating.  We just haven’t really talked about labels and telling people.  It kind of happened, like—two days ago.”

 

“Are you fucking serious?”  And Emilia hangs up.

 

Richard sighs, palming his face, and he sits there for another moment before forcing himself out of bed and dressing in simple clothes because today is an ambulance day.  He thinks maybe, hopefully, today won’t suck.

 

\--

 

_March 10, 2011._

He’s supposed to be meeting Kayvan and Rhys for drinks, and they’re not together because they had today off, and they’ve all been running about.  When he gets back to the flat, though, it’s empty, and their shit is gone.  Richard frowns, calling their names even as he climbs the stairs, and he checks their rooms before heading into his, nearly tripping over his feet and smashing his face into the floor.

 

“K-K-Kit,” he chokes out, wide eyed and agape because _Kit_ , fucking _Kit Harington_ , is curled up beneath his covers, one bare shoulder peeking out.

 

“Richard,” Kit replies evenly, and that’s it.

 

Before he even really registers how Kit is here, he’s struggling out of his jacket and t-shirt, and Kit is sitting and smirking at him.  “ _Fuck_ ,” Richard says, crashing their mouths together as he finally reaches the bed, fingers fumbling over his belt, “Gods, what are you even doing here?”

 

“Surprising you,” Kit practically purrs, leaning forward and mouthing over Richard’s chest until he scrapes his teeth over one of his hardened nipples.

 

“And that text earlier,” Richard groans, finally getting his belt undone and shoving his trousers and briefs down.  As he steps out of them, Kit kicks away the covers and practically hauls him into his lap, ripping a moan from both of them.  That _text_ , gods, he’d nearly lost it right there on set, nearly had to find the closest empty space and fuck into his fist.

 

“Was trying to get you ready,” he says before catching Richard’s mouth again, and then it’s all chaos and frenzied bodies sliding against one another until Richard is hovering over Kit, who stares up at him, bottom lip caught in his teeth, and Richard buries his face in his neck and just breathes him in.

 

Three weeks is a long fucking time, he decides, and, when Kit gasps and claws at his back when they’re fused together, Richard pushed into his tight body, he does his very best to break Kit apart even more than before, to tear him down into a writhing, moaning mess, begging for more.

 

When all is said and done, and Kit is struggling to find his breath, a boneless Richard on top of him, they both laugh and kiss slow.  Eventually, they find their way cleaned up and under the covers together, and they spend the evening catching up and being together, and they fall asleep tangled in each other.

 

\--

 

_May 7, 2011._

Shooting for _Sirens_ wraps, and, after two weeks of not seeing Kit, Richard goes home to Scotland and stares around at his flat that doesn’t feel like home anymore.  He stands in his hallway for a long time before he opens his phone and clicks on Kit’s picture.  _i miss you_ , he types, and he keeps his phone out as he looks up at his flat again.

 

 _come back_ , is Kit’s return message.

 

But, by some unspoken agreement, they’re stretching out the time, Richard’s not showing up on Kit’s doorway with his things, and Kit’s not asking.  It lasts two weeks before Richard calls Kit, says, “This sucks,” and Kit responds before he’s even finished, “Move in with me.”

 

His home hasn’t been in Scotland for some time, always sleeping on this or that friend’s sofa in Northampton or in Kit’s bed in London, long before they were even together, and all his friends and life is in London now, despite his place being in Scotland.  So then it’s decided, and Kit shows up with his jeep around four a week after the phone call.

 

“Hey you,” Kit says as he hops out of his jeep and comes over, greeting Richard with a firm kiss.  He pulls back quickly, though, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder, “Alfie’s right behind me.”

 

They wait for Alfie to pull up, and then they’re all heading inside and gathering up the boxes to pack away in the three separate cars.  They’re nearly finished, chatting here and there, when Alfie blocks the doorway and glares at them.  “What?” Richard says, looking around like there’s something to offend him.

 

“Don’t be an ass,” Alfie snaps, and Kit quirks an eyebrow, genuinely confused.  “Are you guys fucking or what?”

 

Richard chokes.  Kit smirks.

 

“You gonna be a man about it?” Kit asks, and Alfie just stares at him.  “Been together for about three months,” he says after a few moments, and Alfie nods.

 

“Yeah, I know.  Emilia told me, fucking freaking out.  Made me not say anything, but I didn’t fucking believe her until I saw you two.  God, it’s like watching _The Notebook_.  You’re disgusting.”

 

“Fuck off,” Richard snaps, grinning, and Kit bumps shoulders with him before hefting another box outside.

 

“So, why does Emilia know?” Alfie continues as they’re loading the last box.

 

“Long story,” Richard sighs, “But she’s the only one, besides you and my _Sirens_ mates.”

 

“Hint taken.  I won’t say anything.  Anyway, are we leaving?  Cos I’ve got shit to do.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, we’re leaving,” Kit grumbles, shoving him away before turning to Richard, “See you soon.”  They part with a soft kiss, and then it’s another seven hour drive away from Scotland and into London, and, when Richard steps into the familiarity of Kit’s flat, he grins.  He’s home.

 

\--

 

_May 15, 2011._

 

When Richard wakes up, it’s because of the sun.  It’s warm and glorious against his back, and he yawns, stretching, still half draped over Kit.  He tilts his head up, resting his chin on his arm once he’s tucked it back around, blue eyes gazing up at Kit’s serene face, still far in the depths of sleep, and Richard suddenly knows just exactly how he wants to watch Kit wake up.

 

He picks himself up off him slowly, careful not to disturb him, and he leans over him yo where the small bottle of lube is tucked away in the top drawer, fishing it out and sitting.  He pushes the sheets and comforter down past his feet, and Kit sighs in his sleep, turning his head Richard’s way, face drowned in golden sunlight.  His black curls are long, much longer than Richard’s ever seen them, but Jon hasn’t had the graces of a cut or shave in some time, so he’s not allowed that, either.  He loves them, though, has said so on various occasions, loves to thread his fingers through them and tug, if only to get Kit to groan and swat at him.

 

When he slips one soft finger over the sleepy flesh of Kit’s dick, he makes a soft noise and turns farther into the pillow, hand twitching from where it’s splayed over his stomach, the other extended along the bed, probably prickly from lack of circulation where Richard was lying on it.  He never minds, though, has never once complained about sleepy limbs, and he frowns when Richard tries to sleep away from him, worried he’s annoying always clinging, but Kit loves every second of it, relishes in the attention.

 

Richard stays where he is, sitting next to Kit, not wanting to wake him by shifting his legs, and so he bends awkwardly, tongue darting out to lick of the jutting hipbone, and the muscles in Kit’s stomach flutter, tense slightly.  He may be taller than Kit, but Kit is more built, more defined, and gods be damned if Richard ever denied how much it turned him on to watch the muscles of his arms, back, torso, legs, everywhere, tighten with tension and ripple when he fucked him in half because once Kit bottomed that first time, he was hard-pressed to top again, and Richard very rarely asked.

 

He dares a quick bite along the bone, three fingers skimming over his dick, slowly filling, and Kit hums, a small vibration that makes Richard smirk.  He mouths at the bone for a moment before licking forward, and Kit lets out the softest of groans when he sucks the dip of skin there between his teeth, bruises it and marks him.  He can already feel Kit stirring, fighting his way through the fog and up into wakefulness, and so, when he brushes a hand over the inside of his thigh, his legs part unconsciously, just enough.  Richard coats the fingers of his left hand, and Kit’s legs spread wider at the cool touch of it along his balls, granting him access.  He’s loose from sleep, body pliant and relaxed, heavy, and the first finger slides in easy, makes Kit’s cock curve up toward his belly, hard and wanting.  Richard’s own is thick against his thigh, leaking, and he fists his right hand over it loosely, biting back a groan as his eyes flutter shut, his ass still aching a bit because he asked last night, got on his knees and asked for it, and Kit had just swore and bit his back, his hand trembling as it settled over his shoulder.  God, last night, Richard’s biting the insides of his cheeks just thinking about it, trying to keep himself quiet, but he can’t get the feel of Kit’s mouth along his spine, his hands tangled with Richard’s on the headboard, his hips snapping flush against Richard’s ass fast and hard, making it red, can’t get the feel of him out of his skin.

 

He crooks his finger, and Kit’s awake, lips parting in a low moan, and Richard immediately takes the opportunity, pushing another two inside, scissoring and twisting, looking up at Kit’s face as he arches off the bed a little, pushes down on Richard’s hand.  He pulls them out only to shove them back in, twisting upward, and he knows he’s hit that spot when Kit keens, one hand fisting tight in the sheets and the other scratching red marks over his stomach.

 

Richard’s stomach knots in anticipation, and he opens his mouth for a request at the same time Kit opens his eyes and looks blearily down at him.  “Move,” he mumbles, nudging him with his thigh.  Richard lets his fingers slide out, there’s no way he’s thinking the same thing, but as he scoots backward, getting to his knees, the muscles in Kit’s stomach bunch and tighten, and then he’s rolling onto his stomach, groaning sleepily into the pillow before he’s lifting and dragging one underneath him.

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Richard moans because yeah, that’s exactly what he was going to request.  Sometimes, it scares the piss out of him how well Kit has learned him.  He kneels between Kit’s spread legs, splaying one hand on his ass, squeezing.  Kit smirks at him from where he’s turned his head, and Richard bites his lip, staring up at his black gaze.  Gods, those eyes, and his cock is aching, smearing sticky over his stomach when he shifts.

 

“Richard,” Kit says, and he blinks, comes back, nods and leans forward to the bedside table again when Kit catches his wrist, his grip loose and lazy, tired.  There’s a question there, in that touch, in his gaze, one they’ve only voiced once, one they both know the answer to, and Richard swallows.

 

“Yeah?” he says, and Kit nods.

 

“Yeah,” he says back, worrying his lip with his teeth, sharp and white against the flushed red, “If you want,” he adds, shrugging one shoulder.

 

“Yeah, I want,” Richard practically moans, and Kit grins devilishly, eyes flashing mischief.

 

 _Want_ , Richard thinks, he wants to fuck Kit with nothing between them, wants to _feel_ him, feel how he stretches and tightens around him, wants to be that close, and it’s something Kit brought up one day, out of nowhere, _are you clean?_ , he’d asked, and Richard had nodded, understanding the underlying implication.  _You_?, he’d said in return, and Kit had just licked his lips and nodded.

 

“Okay,” Kit says, bringing him back again, and Richard stops leaning for the drawer, settles back on his knees again, and holds Kit’s gaze.  He sees it there, sees everything, and he nods, almost to himself, before he rises up slightly and tightens his hand over Kit’s ass again.  His grin is back in full force, and Richard groans softly, bending over to nip at the small of his back, and Kit reciprocates the noise, one of his hands fisting in the blue sheets again.

 

He doesn’t know what possesses him, but he nips down to the pale swell of his ass, bites the tender skin, and Kit gasps, his whole body tensing; _he_ knows what Richard is moving dangerously close to doing, even if Richard isn’t really sure, and it makes his skin tingle.  He thinks if he doesn’t move, doesn’t spook him, just maybe.  He’s only experienced that once, and he’d nearly fallen apart at the seams, so when Richard dares a quick lick along the top of his crack, Kit can’t control the groan that trips out of him, ripped from somewhere low and desperate.  Richard hums at the sound, a soft vibration against his back, and then both his hands are on his ass, fingers digging in and spreading, and _holy fuck_ , Kit thinks he’s going to die.

 

Richard’s mouth returns, teeth sharp against the inside of one of his cheeks, and Kit actually fucking _whimpers_ , teeth breaking the skin of his lip as his breath wheezes fast through his nose.  His tongue licks a longer stripe this time, and then it flattens over Kit’s hole, punching the air right out of him.  He puts his fist against his mouth, bites on his knuckles, smearing blood against his thumb, but he still screams when Richard seals his mouth over, tongue pushing forward, and _sucks_.  He loses all control, hips bucking forward, cock pushing into the mattress, and it’s too much, his whole body is tight and shaking, and his scream bubbles out to a whimper, muffled around his fist.  Richard barely flinches, but Kit can feel the smirk against his ass, and if he wasn’t so torn to shreds, he’d smack him.  Even the thought is chased away as Richard slides his tongue back out and thrusts forward, just past the first few rings, but it’s enough that Kit is a moaning mess, swearing loudly into his fist, _sobbing_.

 

He’s given a reprieve when Richard pulls back, licks over his hole and up to the small of his back again, lets out a shaky breath against his skin.  He soothes a hand over Kit’s back, and he jumps like he’s being hit, groaning around his fist.  “Hey,” Richard murmurs, reaching up and tugging on his arm.  He lets him, and his face sinks into the pillow, his hand shaking as it uncurls.  “You okay?”

 

“Gods,” Kit groans, and he manages to nod somehow.  “Yeah, I’m fucking amazing,” he finally manages to get out, struggling to find his breath.  And then he feels Richard shift, and his hand slides further up his back, curls around his shoulder, and he swears, shaking fingers fisting again as he feels the head of Richard’s cock brush against his swollen hole.  He pushes back toward it, his aching dick throbbing at the friction, and gods, he’s already so close.  He rolls back his tongue and closes his mouth so he doesn’t bite his lip again when Richard slowly pushes in, thick and heavy, a long, low moan as he’s surrounded by tight heat, and Kit feels like he’s in overdrive, stretched too tight and too tense, his whole body angry with the build-up.

 

Richard rubs his now free hand over his back, digs his fingers into the muscles, frowns.  “Kit,” he says, and Kit opens his eyes again, black gaze flicking up to Richard’s blue one, “Are you okay?”

 

He takes a steadying breath.  No, he’s not.  “Gimme a minute, yeah?” he mumbles, and Richard nods, carefully bending over him and kissing between his shoulder blades.  His chest is flush against his back, and Kit reaches back, looking for his hand, who gives it over, smiling against his skin when Kit tangles their fingers together, brings them against his shoulder, and nods.

 

Richard fucks him like that, so close and so slow, each thrust steady and long, filling Kit until he’s sobbing and begging for more.  “Gods, _please_ ,” he chokes, and Richard groans, pulling away from his body to settle on his knees more firmly, his free hand braced against Kit’s hip, pressing tight as he quickens his rhythm, snaps harder until Kit’s voice is a jumbled mess of Richard’s name and _yes, fuck yes_.

 

He can feel his orgasm building low in his belly, trickling down his spine, and he bends forward again, curls a hand over Kit’s shoulder, and just fucks himself senseless, abuses his body until Kit is screaming and clenching tight around him.  “Richard,” he pants at the same time Richard untangles his hand from Kit’s and slips it beneath them, fists his hand tight over Kit’s cock and squeezes the base.

 

“Not yet,” he murmurs against his back, and Kit sobs, startling Richard as he shifts, pushes up until he’s on his knees, and Richard goes with him, groans as Kit straightens and settles back against him, thighs tensing as he fucks himself down on Richard’s cock, head pressed into Richard’s shoulder, long neck stretching out into his strong torso.  Richard moans and bites his neck even as he squeezes his hand up Kit’s dick, feels him tighten even further, everywhere.  “Kit, gods— _fuck_ , Kit,” he moans against him, “Kit, Kit— _fuck_ —Kit, _come_.”

 

Kit rides him, panting and moaning as he chases completion, body coiled tight, and Richard shouts as he stills and clenches around him, spilling into his ass, air rushing out of him.  He fists up Kit’s cock absentmindedly, digs his thumb into the bundle of nerves just under the crown, and Kit gasps and comes _hard_ in thick ropes over his stomach and Richard’s hand.

 

They’re both shaking as they come down, clinging to each other, though Richard is the first to move, sticky hand touching Kit’s hip briefly, and Kit responds, carefully untangling himself and settling on his side with a groan, eyes closed and breath coming fast.  His ass clenches around nothing, fucking _throbbing_ , and he still feels too tense, his thighs still trembling.  It takes him another minute to catch his breath and open his eyes, and, by then, Richard has turned on the shower and is back to collect him, laughing when Kit just swats at him and refuses to get up.

 

“Come on,” Richard coaxes, stroking a soft hand over his arm, “Come shower with me.”

 

“Too little,” he lies right through his teeth, and Richard snorts.

 

“Too little my ass.  You could fit three people in there.”

 

“I know,” Kit says, opening his eyes and yawning, “I have.”  Richard blushes, and Kit smirks, pushing himself up.  “Come on, Your Grace, hop to,” he continues, sliding off the bed and taking Richard’s wrist.  Kit’s— _their_ , Richard corrects himself—shower is huge, wide and definitely big enough for three people, though it would be tight.  They’ve showered together before, working around one another, and it’s an easily developing rhythm, like their mornings, making coffee and breakfast, taking turns at each without having to ask.  It’s so easy and happening so quickly that it makes Richard smile for no reason sometimes.

 

When Kit reaches up to scrub his hair clean, Richard steps forward and kisses him when he’s not looking, and Kit jumps in surprise, but laughs and kisses him back.  Somehow, Kit forgets his hair and ends up on his knees with Richard bowing off the shower wall, moaning, one hand curled tight in his soapy black curls.

 

When they finally make it downstairs for breakfast a half hour later, Kit makes eggs with mushrooms and broccoli while Richard brews coffee, stirring Kit’s with a stick of cinnamon after he’s finished fixing his and is just sipping at it.  When Kit finishes breakfast, they eat side by side, flipping through the newspaper together until Kit’s phone rings, and he sighs, glaring at it from where it’s sitting on the other side of the kitchen.  Richard smirks and pulls the newspaper closer to him, reading through the funnies, and Kit just shoves his shoulder and gets up to answer it.

 

“Loser,” he says as he puts it to his ear, and Richard snorts.

 

“Ass monkey,” Ben immediately replies, “Finally get your morning sex?”

 

“Piss off, how do you even know that?”

 

“Because Kit,” he begins, and Kit groans, rubbing his face, “Because you have that voice, the hoarse, I had to bite my fist, I got fucked so hard into the mattress, and it’s the morning voice.”

 

“Got almost all of it,” Kit mumbles, grinning.

 

“Oh?” Ben says on the other line, and Kit can just imagine, straightening up and quirking an eyebrow, “Something new maybe?  Hm.”

 

“I’ll let you figure it out.  In the meantime, what do you want?”

 

“Is Richard there?”

 

“Well, if I got fucked into the mattress, Ben, and you’re at home, who else would be here?”  This time, Richard chokes, looking up at Kit with wide eyes.

 

“Put me on speaker, ass monkey.”

 

Kit sighs dramatically before pushing away from the counter and dropping the phone on the opposite one, hitting the speaker button and reaching for his coffee again.  “Go ahead, pretty boy.”

 

“Hello Richard!” Ben sings.

 

“H-Hi?” Richard says uncertainly.

 

“I doubt Kit’s mentioned me because he’s just about the worst friend I have, but my name is Ben Barnes, and I would consider it of the highest honor if we could meet.  I’ve just been _dying_ to introduce myself after all the gushing Kit has done,” Ben finishes, his voice dripping with unmasked sarcasm and disdain.

 

“Ben,” Kit says, reaching for the phone, “What is your problem, mate?”

 

“Richard, how red are your lips?”

 

“ _Ben_!”

 

“Hm.  I figured it out.”

 

Richard looks utterly horrified as Kit quickly takes him off speaker, mouths an apology to him, and disappears down the hall.  He steps outside barefoot, leaving the door open a crack as he speaks, “Are you fucking serious?  What bullshit was that?”

 

“Rimming.  He put his fucking tongue in your ass,” Ben says.

 

“ _Ben_.  Did you hit your head or something?  What is wrong with you?”

 

“Oh, come on, Kit.  It’s _you_.”

 

“What is that even supposed to mean?”

 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Ben repeats, “You’ve never had a relationship that’s lasted more than a few weeks, Kit.  You _always_ come back to me, _always_ show up on my doorstep when things get too serious, and I’m just sick of treating each little shit like they’re the greatest thing in the world.  When are you going to grow up, Kit?  You can’t whore yourself about forever.”

 

Shaking, Kit hangs up, and he has to put his phone in his pocket before he throws it.  He tries to take a steadying breath, but a sob rips out of him, and he covers his mouth with one hand, biting his lip as he does.  When his phone rings again, he lets it go for three rounds before he answers it.  “I’m not a whore,” he says softly, and Ben sighs.

 

“That was poor choice of words,” he admits, “But it’s true.  So he put his tongue in your ass, you gonna marry the fuck?”

 

“ _Ben_.”

 

“Look, I get it, he’s one of your costars, it’s going to be different, you’re forced to be around him all the time, I’ve heard it before, Kit.  Don’t you remember all those drama kids?  I just don’t believe it, okay?  You want me to meet the guy, _fine_ , but it’s not going to last.”  Kit is silent, tears falling unchecked down his face, and he has one hand bridged over his temple, shielding him from unwanted eyes.  “They never do, and this one isn’t any different,” Ben says quietly, “I’m sorry.”

 

“He moved in,” Kit says before he pulls the phone away and ends the call, shutting down his phone after.  He’s okay for about four seconds before he breaks, dropping his head down between his knees and letting go, Ben’s words ripping him apart like knives in his flesh, tearing him down until he hears the door creak, and, before he has time to lift his head and wipe his face, Richard is winding his arms around him and leaning their heads together.

 

He doesn’t say anything for a long time, but Kit forces himself to calm down, to not break in front of Richard, but even that doesn’t work because Richard just rubs a hand soothingly over his back and kisses his ear.  They’re freezing by the time Kit shifts and lifts his head, pulling his sleeves down over his hands to clear his face.

 

“Are you okay?” Richard murmurs, tucking his chin over Kit’s shoulder.  When Kit shakes his head, Richard nods.  “Who is Ben?”

 

“He, uhm—he was in those _Chronicles of Narnia_ movies, he played—”

 

“I don’t care who he is,” Richard cuts him off, “I know who he is.  But who is he to you?  And what did he just say to you that caused this?”

 

“Do you wanna go inside?  It’s cold,” he says, starting to move, but Richard shakes his head and holds him there.  They’re both barefoot, and Kit frowns, trying to shift again.

 

“You won’t tell me if you go back inside,” Richard says, and Kit sighs.  He won’t.

 

“He was my first guy,” Kit says, “My first kiss, when I was fourteen, my first— _everything_.  You name it, he’s done it.  He was my first in general, when I was seventeen, right before I started dating this girl Briana.  He’s my best friend,” Kit says, shrugging, “And he’s been there, all these years, a friend, a—Richard, I never stopped having sex with him.  I’ve been faithful to every person I’ve ever dated, but he’s always been the one I go back to, everytime.  I—I’ve never—I’ve never dated someone this long before, not— _really_.  I mean, there was this drama kid once, we were off and on for near half a year, but it was never anything serious.  Not like—not like you,” Kit says, looking up at him, up into his blue eyes, “I’ve never cared so much about someone before, and Ben pointed that out, in crueler terms.  I’m sorry.  I understand if you—”

 

“Shut up,” Richard says, and Kit makes a soft noise when he grabs the back of his neck and pulls him over, crushes their mouths together.  When he pulls back, he tightens his hand and presses their foreheads together.  “I don’t care,” Richard says, “I care about you, too.  And I’m not letting you go.”

 

“Okay,” Kit says, smiling, “I wasn’t planning on letting you go, either, just for the record.  Ben can shove it.”

 

“Aye, he can.  Now come on, I can’t feel my feet.”

 

“Damn, and usually you’re the one with the warm feet.  What do you say to a marathon of horror movies?”

 

“You’re on, but I’m going to use you as a shield.”

 

Kit just laughs and kisses him again, pulling him up after and heading inside, locking the door behind them.  They don’t move from the sofa for much of the day, save to eat, use the loo, and the one time Richard jumped and hid behind a pillow only to be drawn out and coaxed onto his back, and they both tuned out the sounds of whatever crazy was killing whatever victim because Kit held him tight and kept him close and made him forget whatever fear he had.

 

It’s around nine o’clock when the banging on the door starts, and Kit disentangles himself from Richard, kissing him on the forehead before he pads over, undoes the locks, and is promptly shoved into the wall.  Richard looks over at the noise, immediately clambering off the sofa as Kit grunts and knocks Ben’s knees out from under him, sending him tumbling to the floor.

 

“WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?” he screams, staggering back a step and wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.

 

“Kit,” Ben slurs, groaning and reaching for him, “Kit, lissen me, man, lissen me.”

 

Before Richard can reach him and stop the oncoming rage, Kit bends, lifts Ben clean off his feet, and slams him into the wall.  Ben groans again as his head bounces off the wall, and Kit holds him there, forearm pressed against his throat, other coming down with a slap beside Ben’s head so that he winces.  “ _What_ —” Kit begins, seething, “—are you _doing_ here?”

 

“Kit,” Ben whines, struggling against him, “Lissen me, Kit, you got—ta lissen, Kit.”  Kit glares at him, shaking, and he drops him a moment later, pushing him toward the door.  “ _Kit_!” Ben’s whine pitches.

 

“Get out,” Kit says, reaching for the door, and Richard shouts at the same time Kit hits the wall, holding his jaw, Ben’s fist swinging through the air.  Kit takes one moment of disbelief before he launches himself at Ben, and they collapse to the floor.

 

“Kit!” Richard yells, running over, “Come on, man, don’t do this.”

 

Somehow, through his drunken state, Ben manages to get one of Kit’s arms away from him, and he shoves it back roughly, something pops, and Kit screams.  The noise seems to jolt Ben as Kit sags, boneless, against the ground, eyes squeezed shut.

 

“Kit,” Ben says, blinking, “Gahd, Kit, whad I do?”

 

“Get _off_ , Ben,” Richard growls, shoving Ben away until he can kneel beside Kit.  “Hey,” he murmurs, touching his face, hand curling around his cheek and thumb rubbing over the soft skin where his beard isn’t, “What hurts?”

 

Kit takes a slow breath before he opens his eyes, immediately turning up to Richard.  “My shoulder,” he says finally, lifting his right hand to point at his left arm.

 

“ _Ben_ ,” Richard says, catching movement as Ben tries to come forward again.  He flicks his gaze back to Kit, frowning as he leans over and looks at it.  “It’s dislocated,” he says, and Kit groans.

 

Without warning, one of his legs kicks out, and Ben yelps as he catches him hard in the ribs.  “Fuck you,” he says, glaring down at Ben, and then he’s moving before Richard can stop him, gasping and groaning, and Richard helps him the rest of the way until he’s sitting.  “Close the fucking door,” he snaps at Ben, kicking him again, and Ben just narrows his eyes before going to do as told.

 

“Do you want to go to the—”

 

“No,” Kit says before he can finish.

 

“But it’s—”

 

“It’s been dislocated at least four times, I’m fine.  I just need you to pop it back into place.  Richard,” he says when Richard doesn’t move, “It’s okay.”

 

“I’ve never—”

 

“ _Please_.”

 

“Okay,” he says after a moment, “What do I have to do?”

 

“Just—come here.  Okay, hands on either side.  Yeah, like that,” he says as Richard lays his right hand against the back and braces his left against the front.  “Tight in the back, push the front on three, I might—” he breaks off with a shout, eyes closing, and Richard quickly drops his hands away, biting his bottom lip, “—yell,” Kit gasps before he lets out a low groan, carefully rotating his shoulder.  “Help me up.”  Richard slowly pulls him to his feet, and Kit steadies his breath before looking over to where Ben is leaning against the wall.  “I’m gonna punch in the fucking stomach if you don’t start puking that shit up,” he threatens, and Ben just nods, pushing away from the wall and heading for the stairs.

 

“ _God_ ,” Richard gasps, crushing his mouth to Kit’s once Ben is gone, and Kit just kisses back, lifting his right hand to thread through his hair, holding him close.  When they break apart, they’re both panting, and Richard’s eyes flick to his shoulder worriedly.

 

“I’m fine.  I just—need a cigarette.”

 

Richard goes back to the sofa while Kit grabs a cigarette from the kitchen, and he speaks as Kit is padding back over, “So that’s Ben?”

 

“Fucking Ben,” Kit says, shaking his head.

 

“Go upstairs.”

 

“What?”

 

Kit swivels to face Richard, who nods.  “Go.  You need to talk to him.  I’m gonna go out for a beer, yeah?  Maybe I’ll call Alfie.”  Before he can even respond, Richard is pushing off the sofa and heading for the stairs to change.  He’s still sitting there, speechless, when Richard comes back down, tugging on his jacket.  “I have my phone,” he says before he disappears, and Kit stares at the hallway for a few moments before he sighs and gets up, shutting off the telly as he does.

 

Ben is leaning against the wall opposite the toilet when he leans against the doorframe, though he looks up when Kit arrives.  “Fuck me,” Ben mumbles, looking away again, “I screwed up, Kit.”

 

“No shit.”

 

“Do you hate me?”

 

“Pretty much.”

 

“You were always supposed to be mine, Kit,” Ben says, meeting his gaze again, “You weren’t supposed to go out and be happy.”

 

“Are you even listening to yourself?” Kit asks, pushing off the doorframe and stepping inside.

 

“I _love_ you, Kit,” Ben pleads.

 

“I don’t fucking care,” Kit snaps, “I’m _happy_ with Richard, and I actually wanted you to meet him, _for real_ , because—because there’s something _there_ , Ben, and you’re my best friend, and you can’t even be happy for me.  You’re such a dick.”

 

“I love you, Kit,” Ben repeats, “I don’t know how to just be your friend.”

 

“Well, figure it out, and call me when you have.  I’m going out.”

 

“ _Where_?”

 

“Nowhere you’re following.  If you’re not gone when I get back, I’m going to put you in a hospital, yeah?  Get the fuck out.”  He leaves the bathroom to change, and he’s gone while Ben is bent over the porcelain lid.  He stops in to see Jack first, who calls one of his employees over to man the bar the second he spots him.  He motions to the door, and Kit steps back outside, Jack joining him a few seconds later.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says immediately, “I didn’t feed him those drinks, though.  He came staggering in already smashed, said he was gonna go show you what a real man was.”

 

“I know,” Kit says, putting up a hand to stop him, “I don’t blame you.  I just wanted to let you know, so you can help him, that if I find him inside my flat again, I’m calling the cops, and I _will_ beat the shit out of him, okay?”

 

“Yeah,” Jack says, nodding, “I’m sorry, Kit.”

 

“It’s fine.  It’s not your fault.”

 

“Is that it?  Am I never going to see you again?”

 

“When he learns how to not be such a shithead just because I’m happy, we’ll talk.”

 

“Alright.  I’ll pass the message on.  I gotta get back, mate, thanks for stopping by.  Is he alright?”

 

“Introducing his liver to my loo,” Kit says before clapping Jack on the shoulder and turning away.

 

It’s nearly ten before he stops again, and he’s far from the city’s center by now, parked out his parent’s house.  When he knocks, the door opens almost immediately, and his mother frowns.  “I couldn’t sleep,” she says, ushering him inside, “Come on, I’ll put on the kettle.”  And he follows her into his childhood home, ready to tell her everything.

 

\--

 

_January 27, 2012._

Kit looks up as the trailer rocks slightly, and Rose frowns from her place across from him.  Two minutes tick by before anything happens, but then a short horn is blasting, twice, and Kit sinks into his seat, sighing.  “Two means blizzard,” Rose says, “Think I should brave it?”

 

“You can stay here, if you want.  Hopefully, it won’t last long.  Excuse me,” he says before pushing away from the small table and crossing back into his small bedroom.  He hates the trailers, hates that they need to be onsite almost constantly because the location takes so long to get to, hates all this godforsaken snow, hates that his phone has absolutely no service.  “Bloody serious,” he curses, lifting it up and glaring at it.

 

“Trying to get signal?” Rose asks from the main part of the trailer, and Kit grunts his response, walking around the small room before returning, frowning, but he stops just as he’s about to sit down, letting out a noise of triumph.

 

He opens Richard’s contact and taps the call button because half his texts don’t go through, and the horn has blasted another two times, signaling a bad one.  Richard doesn’t answer, so he leaves a message, “Hey, blizzard coming in, don’t know how long it’ll last.  I’ll be out of reach until then, I’ll text you when I get service again.  I’m sorry about tonight,” he finishes softly, looking toward the small window.  Rose gets up suddenly, slipping away, and Kit makes a mental note to thank her.  “I miss you,” he continues after a few beats of silence, “I miss sleeping next to you and holding you, and I even miss my arm hurting and your stupid snoring.  Gods, Richard, I miss you so much.  I just—think of me, yeah?”  He hangs up before he can sound anymore like a total idiot, and Rose comes back from the bathroom, trying to hide her grin.  Kit blinks, trying not to let his fear show through.

 

“Don’t worry, I didn’t really hear much,” she assures, sitting again, “Just the tone of your voice.  Sounds like a special girl,” she says, and Kit just nods, not trusting his mouth.

 

The blizzard turns out to be one of their worst, and Rose is left stranded in Kit’s trailer until they’re both yawning and filled with a good buzz.  “Gods, I’m tired,” Kit says around midnight, stretching.

 

“Doesn’t look like it’s let up at all,” Rose says, looking through the window, “Mind if I camp out on your floor?”

 

“If you promise not to fondle me in my sleep, you can take half the bed,” he offers, getting up and already padding back toward the bedroom, checking his phone even though he knows it’s no use.  It’s not the first time one of them have been caught at each other’s trailers; since they started shooting, they’ve become fast friends, and they’re frequently hanging out when a crazy storm hits.  It’s been a few weeks, though, and Kit’s been having nightmares recently, things that he’s amounted to be overworked and overtired, stressed and stretched beyond his limits with the cold and filming, but he doesn’t really see any need why one would throw him for a loop tonight, and so he doesn’t worry.

 

Until he’s clawing his way up through the dark sleep and jolting awake, sweating and shaking, four hours later.  Rose is still asleep while he’s trying to catch his breath, and so he slips out of the bed and forces his legs to work.  He’s about to leave when he notices his phone is blinking, and he grabs it before he makes his way out to the main area, taking his pack from beside the sink and lowering onto the stairs leading to the door.  He knocks a cigarette out, lights it, and takes a slow, long inhale before he checks his phone.  _i can’t sleep, nikolaj keeps talking, my feet are overheating,_ reads the text from Richard, and he smiles despite his nightmare, flipping to the next one, _you don’t even have service, i know, but it’s late, and i made a tent out of my blankets._ He laughs at that, imagining it as he takes another drag on his cigarette and thumbs to the last, _i think you’re awake, too.  that’s weird, and kind of more gay than i’m used to._

He has service, Kit notices when he looks to the top of his phone, and he sends a quick thanks north before opening Richard’s contact and calling him.  He answers on the second ring, “Hold on.”  Kit waits, listening to Richard grunt before the phone screeches something, probably sheets, falling on it.  A moment later, Richard picks the phone back up, and then he can hear his faint footsteps before a door is opened and closed.  “Hey,” he says a moment later, his voice warm and so happy, “You were awake.”

 

“Nightmare,” Kit admits, leaning his head against the wall, “Got up for a smoke, saw your texts.  A tent, huh?”

 

“Yeah, it’s pretty badass.  Except I almost woke Nikolaj up while I was making it.”

 

“You Starks are crazy.”

 

“At least I’m not freezing my ass off.  How’s the blizzard?”

 

“Slowed down, apparently, if I have service.  If I cut out randomly, I’m sorry.  The call might drop at any second.”

 

“It’s cool, at least we’re talking now.  I miss you, Kit.”

 

“Gods, I miss you so much.  How long has it been because, seriously, Iceland makes every day feel like twelve years.”

 

“Nearly a month.  Just saw each other for Christmas.”

 

“Yeah,” Kit sighs, “Still enjoying Nikolaj as your roommate?”

 

“He’s awesome.  You were right, he really is a great guy.  It’s weird, though, ehm—not being on set with Alfie.  I mean, I was used to not seeing you all the time first season, but ehm—Alfie was always there.”

 

“Mm.”

 

“So, nightmare?”

 

“Yeah, I dunno.  I’ve been having them lately.  It’s weird.”

 

“Bad ones?  Like, well—nightmares, yeah, but bad?”

 

“They keep waking me up.  I remember most of them, but they freak me out.  I wish you were here.”

 

“Me too,” Richard sighs, “I hate to ask, but have you spoken to Ben at all?”

 

“Yeah, a little on Christmas, before I saw you.  He broke up with his girlfriend, he’s taking it slow with another right now.”

 

“That’s good, I guess.”

 

“Yeah,” Kit trails off, taking a drag, “Richard?”

 

“Mm?”

 

“I’ve been thinking.”

 

“Oh boy.”

 

“Shove it,” he says softly, smiling.

 

“Go on, Snow.”

 

“It’s just—I mean, we’ve talked about it before.”

 

“Would you stop reading my mind?” Richard cuts him off, and Kit grins, “Jesus, it’s like you’re inside my brain half the time.  Going public?” he adds, and Kit nods.  “Kit, stop nodding.”

 

“Right,” Kit laughs, “Yeah, going public.”

 

“I mean—yeah.”

 

“Really?”

 

“It’s been almost a year.”

 

“Meaning you’re hanging on even tighter.  As am I,” Kit says, and he can almost see Richard’s smile.

 

“Hey, do me a favor,” Richard says suddenly, “Take a picture of yourself.”

 

“ _What_?”

 

“My laptop’s dead, and I wanna see you.  Don’t get pretty.”

 

“You’re so strange.”

 

“Nope.  I’m already taking it, you suck for being slow.”  Kit just rolls his eyes before pulling his phone away from his ear and going back to his home screen, thumbing over to the left and clicking on the camera button.  A flash, save, and a few tapped letters later, and the message is on its way, his own phone beeping when Richard’s comes in.  He smiles instantly when he opens it, looking over Richard’s bed messy auburn hair, crazy as always but soft looking because it’s just _Richard_ , not Robb, not done up, his wrinkled white t-shirt, loose and lazy over his body, his fierce auburn beard, Robb’s even though Kit loves it, and his face, blue eyes tired but happy, a wide smile, all teeth, a smile he only shows when he’s laughing, when he’s directed to, when he’s looking at Kit, and his pale, freckled skin, wrinkled around his eyes and mouth, and Kit just wants to be there, to grab him and kiss him.

 

His own, he thinks, is not nearly as good.  His hair is everywhere, but it always is, especially because Jon is out in the wild and not such a princess anymore, his beard is longer and crazier than Richard’s, and he’s so tired, dark eyes sleepy looking but still with a little brightness, just because it’s for Richard, and his smile is smaller, but he rarely breaks out beaming anyway, and none of it matters because Richard makes this soft little noise, and he knows he loves it.

 

“Kit?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

Richard doesn’t say anything for a very long time, minutes ticking by until Kit starts to think the call dropped, but, when he checks, it’s still there, and he’s about to say Richard’s name, snap him back like he has to sometimes, when Richard breathes.  “I love you,” he says, and Kit doesn’t even blink.

 

“I love you, too,” he says without thinking because he does, and he has, and he knows he’s going to for a long damn time.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Of course I do, you butt.”

 

“I’m gonna come up there.”

 

“What?”

 

“I am.  I don’t know how, but I am.  For the seventeenth.”  It wouldn’t matter if Kit was butt-naked outside in the blizzard, he’s never felt so warm, inside and out.

 

“Even my feet are warm,” he says, and Richard laughs so hard, he thinks he might wake Nikolaj.

 

“The fact that I know exactly what you mean,” Richard says, and he doesn’t have to complete it.  There’s silence for another few minutes, quiet and comfortable, and it’s as though they were just sitting right next to each other, legs pressed together, Kit’s head on Richard’s shoulder, their fingers laced, just together, just _together_.

 

“Are you falling asleep?” Kit asks finally.

 

“Yeah, you?”

 

“Mm.  My cigarette’s gone, too.”

 

“Maybe we should go to bed.”

 

“Rose keeps kicking me.”

 

“Yeah, well at least she’s not trying to have a conversation with you.”

 

“He does that.”

 

“So—going public.”

 

“Wanna just drop little hints?  Subtle, random ones?  At stupid times?”

 

“Sounds good to me.  Alright, I’m going to break my jaw with these yawns.  Speak later?”

 

“Of course.  I’ll let you know how the blizzard goes.”

 

“Mm, I’d appreciate that.  Goodnight.”

 

“Night, Richard,” he says, and he waits a second before hanging up, but neither of them say it again.

 

When he crawls back under the blankets, Rose stirs, turns to him, and says, “Richard?”  When Kit just shrugs, Rose smiles and turns away again.  “Good for you.”

 

He sleeps until ten o’clock uninterrupted, though that means they’re still trapped, and, when he does finally wake, stretching, Rose is on the phone with one of the directors.  “Shooting is cancelled for today, probably tomorrow.  All of the trailers are completely snowed in,” she says as she appears in the doorway.

 

Kit gives her a thumbs up to show he’s heard before he rolls onto his stomach, mashing his face into his pillow.  His phone dings from the nightstand, and he reaches for it blindly, groaning when the light hits his eyes.  _broke my fucking thumb because some shit missed his mark.  how’s the snow?_

 

Kit forces himself awake before he responds, _maybe a two-day cancellation.  no more nightmares, your voice is magic.  you okay?_

Rose slides under the blankets again, settling on her side and propping her head up with her hand.  “So,” she says, and Kit looks up at her, “Is it a secret?”

 

“Was.  We’re kind of going public?”

 

“Kind of?”

 

“Well, not like, issuing a statement or whatever, but we’re not going to hide from—you know, costars and stuff anymore.”  _hurts like a mother, i’ll be fine, got something for the pain so i can keep shooting.  rose still stuck?_

_yeah_ , he types back, _i think all I have left is ramen and cereal.  don’t overwork your hand._

“Hm.  So, that’s cool,” she says, rolling onto her back, “How long?”

 

“A year next month.”

 

“ _What_?”  Kit looks up as Rose turns her head to look at him, “A _year_?”

 

“Yeah, I know, it’s weird.  I can hardly believe it sometimes, either.”

 

“So, like… right after shooting wrapped?”

 

“Pretty much.”

 

“That’s actually really cute.”

 

“Thanks?” Kit says, quirking an eyebrow before opening the new message, _thanks, mom.  i have to go, apparently breaking your thumb doesn’t get you more than a five minute break.  be safe._

Rose ends up barricaded in the trailer for the next two days before the finally manage to clear them enough that they can get out, and then they only have a half day of shooting to allow people to shower and eat properly after so long cooped up, but, all in all, it turns out to be a rather relaxing few days.

 

\--

 

_February 16, 2012._

“A _year_ ,” Nikolaj says, and Richard laughs.

 

“Stop it, he was pissed,” he says, swatting at him.

 

“Yeah, no shit.  He nearly threw you out of the room.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen him say yes to someone wanting to take a few days leave from set before that fast.”

 

“Yeah, well.  Thanks, mate, really, for driving.”

 

“No problem, Richard.  Just text me when you get safely to Iceland, yeah?  You know where the set location is?”

 

“Yes, mother.”

 

“Hey, I gotta look out for my little hens.  And you know which trailer is Kit’s?”

 

“No, I’m gonna knock on every one until I find his.  Of course I do.”

 

“And at least one person knows you’re coming?”

 

“A few do, yeah.  My turn.  You’ll be here in four days, right?  I’m not going to get an angry call asking where the hell I am.”

 

“I’ll be here.  Four days, same time.  Alright,” he breaks off, pulling in, “Flight leaves in fifteen minutes.”

 

“I’m due to land in about four hours in the capital,” Richard says before he can continue, “And then Rose is picking me up.  Stop freaking out, alright?  I’ll be fine.”

 

“And you’re sure he doesn’t know you’re coming?”

 

“I mean, I told him I wanted to, but I haven’t brought it up since.”

 

“Well, have fun, have lots of sex, keep warm, and I’ll see you in four days.”

 

Richard just waves as he gets out of the car and heads to the small airport.  Rose is waiting when he lands four hours later, and, after quick introductions, they’re off, embarking on another nearly four hour journey with various modes of transportation.  By the time they arrive, the sun is starting to set, but Rose takes Richard back to her trailer as planned.  “So Kit told me what happened the morning before you two got together,” she says as she’s fixing them tea.

 

“So, then you actually know why I’m in your trailer right now.”

 

“It’s really cute, if I’m honest.  Oh, this is yours, by the way.  Nicked it earlier,” she says, going to get him the spare key.

 

They talk for a while, getting to know each other, but, around midnight, Rose retires, bidding him a good night with a wink, and he hangs out for another two hours before he leaves, as planned, bundled up, his backpack tight over his shoulders.  It takes only a few minutes to get to Kit’s trailer, but it’s frigid out, and he doesn’t have much light to go by but his phone and the moon.  When he finally gets there, his hands are shaking from the cold, and it takes him a few tries to unlock the door and quietly tiptoe in.  His iPod is still plugged in, playing something soft, but Kit is dead to the world in the back, breathing softly and slowly, warmed by his pajama pants and shirt and layers of blankets.  Richard leaves his backpack against the wall opposite Kit’s side, undresses quietly, changes, and then carefully climbs in, and Kit never wakes.

 

\--

 

When Kit blinks awake the next morning, yawning and stretching, his foot hits something warm, and he almost falls out of the bed.  Someone laughs softly, and Kit steadies himself, looking over.  Richard opens his eyes and looks up at him from where he’s lying on his stomach, head turned toward him.  “Good morning,” he whispers, and Kit is frozen for a moment before he crashes their mouths together, pulling Richard off his stomach and into his arms.

 

“God, I love you,” he says against his mouth even as he moves in to kiss him again, and Richard just laughs, holds on tight, and kisses him back.

 

“I love you, too,” he says when Kit finally releases him, “Told you I’d be here.”

 

Kit laughs, winding his arms around Richard and pulling him into a warm, sleepy, tight embrace.  He breathes him in, just relishes in the fact that he’s here, in his bed, right next to him, where he belongs, and Richard does the same, feels like he’s finally home.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So I _was_ going to stick another little sex scene in there at the end, but then I wrote the opening paragraph, and it just didn’t happen. Oops. Then again, I also thought this was going to be at least another 5k words, as most of my oneshots have been about that length recently. But anyway, this is my first try at this pairing, definitely not my first try at writing, promise, so… thoughts?


End file.
